


Mistakes

by kamikaze43v3r



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Development, Codependency, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Grindelwald is a bit of a creep, M/M, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Patronus, Percival Graves is not really a good guy, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Sexual Content, Slight Power Play, Slow Burn, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamikaze43v3r/pseuds/kamikaze43v3r
Summary: How could he have been so stupid?A mistake. And a colossal one at that.He had been too impatient, too desperate. It had been so close after all.Percival Graves was the Director of Magical Security, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the descendent of one of the original Aurors of MACUSA. Currently, he is known as the traitor Percival Graves, and a follower of Gellert Grindelwald.





	1. Satu

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing but all I wanted was a not-so-good guy Percival Graves who'd prostrate himself to a powerful Credence and somehow it ended way off track. Also, I'm a sucker for slow burn fics.
> 
> My first multi-chap for this pairing... I hope you'll enjoy!

How could he have been so stupid?

A mistake. And a colossal one at that.

He had been too impatient, too desperate. It had been so close after all.

Percival Graves was the Director of Magical Security, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the descendent of one of the original Aurors of MACUSA. Currently, he is known as the _traitor_ Percival Graves, and a follower of Gellert Grindelwald.

Additionally, he wasn’t exactly known for his patience either.

The New Salem boy had been a special case; Percival had seen many cases in his career as an Auror. Humans - wizards and no-maj alike are cruel, twisted beings. Abuse victims and domestic violence like those of the Barebone family weren’t uncommon, but never had Percival encountered an Obscurial. Failings of the system, perhaps - something Percival was very much aware of, as an employee of said system and bitterly resents - or just cruel fate.

His anger had taken hold of him, and it was ugly. Percival knew of his temper, his aggression, and he’d taken it out on Credence undeservedly. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud that soon though - pride of an high-standing official perhaps, but the words he said were truth, even if they were uncalled for. He had thought the boy a squib, unteachable, and of no significance other than a useful informant, but oh, was he so, so wrong.

Percival had met with Grindelwald a few times. Once while chasing after the man; second after he was captured and… persuaded; third for his first mission from the man himself. Percival Graves may be an Auror, but he had shared some ideas with Grindelwald. The amount of injustice done to their people, wizards, all in favour of the no-maj, those who sought to persecute them for who they were.

The dark wizard had given him good reasons, convincing and enthralling speeches, accompanied by ideas and plans that were plausible enough for the seasoned Auror to acknowledge and be lured into. When the wizard told him of his vision of a powerful child and had sent him on his way back to MACUSA, Percival had thought that this would be the key to making change for wizards, for all of them. He would be doing things for the greater good.

When Tina Goldstein, promising and so kind-hearted, attacked the New Salem matriarch, she had done him a generous favour. While she wasn’t aware of the boy’s power, Percival was - even if he'd mistaken him for a squib -and he’d used that as an advantage. While information on Obscurials were few and buried deep because people did not enjoy learning of the dark side of history, Percival knew enough about the conditions needed for one to develop.

And the New Salem Philanthropic Society was the best possible environment for it.

However, even if Percival was keen on bringing greatness for his fellow wizards,  which, as Grindelwald would say - to bring them out of the shadows - he was not unkind. Credence had his sympathies; he was an earnest, innocent boy with the misfortune of being taken in by an abusive no-maj with no compassion for the ‘unnatural’. Every time he healed the boy's scars, soothed the boy’s whimpers, he did feel for him. The no-maj woman was mad, and their Statute of Secrecy was the only thing protecting that vile woman. Credence was a victim of the injustice that he was fighting against after all, and the reason why Percival had chosen to follow Grindelwald. Perhaps, if they had met in different circumstances…

Well, no use worrying about it now.

Credence was gone. Killed by the fool Aurors and even more foolish Madam President who had no idea what they'd done. Newt Scamander and his pesky creatures may have incapacitated him, but Percival was an accomplished Auror. While being without his wand may have crippled him in offensive and defensive magic, no tricks or properties of a beast could hold him for long, so it didn’t take much for him to escape his Auror escorts and Disapparate.

First, he Apparated into a small bunker, hidden away from prying eyes of both no-maj and magical alike. His hideout for a rainy day like this (which, ironically, is still raining thanks to Scamander’s Thunderbird) held his needed supplies of potions and spare wands. Losing his wand wasn’t exactly common, but it was bound to happen in his line of work, especially after losing a couple from vicious battles with dark wizards in his time as an Auror. Nothing would feel the same to his original wand, though, Percival thought ruefully.

Then, to contact Grindelwald… Would sending an owl be a good idea? He doubted it. He’d need to procure a couple of proxies first or even a portkey to get further into hiding. The plan was to get the Obscurial, bring them to their side and whisk him off to Europe where Grindelwald was. That plan had been obliterated, along with Credence. The thought brought a slight ache to his chest.

But what can he do now? His mission had failed, and he was exposed. Laying low for a while would do good… A long, long while.

Percival sighed, sinking to the only chair aside from the single bed, desk and a couple of cupboards in the tiny room. He ran his hands over his face, still damp from the rain and sweat.

Credence… Damn, he really messed up.

The boy didn’t deserve his fate at all. Someone that powerful could have changed their world. If only Percival had held onto his patience just a little longer and not let those venomous words escape his lips. The betrayal and anger in the young man’s expression were unforgettable, seared into his memory. At that time he had been too impatient to think much of it, but… But it was the power that came after - that overwhelming magic that came in the form of black-red smoke, sweeping everything in its path away - that made him truly shudder.

He recalled the moments as the kinetic mass towered over him, ready to consume but yet hesitant, a clear sign of Credence’s conscience. Perhaps he was still aware, still fearful despite his overwhelming power, or maybe, he still held some feelings for him? If only that Magizoologist wasn’t there, or Tina - if it were just the two of them in that subway, Credence would’ve been by his side this very moment. He would have protected that precious, immense, uncontrollable power to the best of his abilities. Something as powerful as that won’t come by again so easily.

He gritted his teeth in frustration, angry at himself and at how things had turned out. If he were given a second chance, maybe he could set things right by the boy, and properly get the grand plan to work…

And then - his necklace warmed.

His necklace in the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, a copy given to him by Grindelwald. But this wasn’t connected to the dark wizard. This was -

Percival snatched up a spare wand and Disapparated.

 

\--+--

 

He shuddered and sobbed, breath coming and going in desperate rasps. It was hard to breathe in between his tears and panting, unable to get a good grip on the very act of breathing itself. He had only managed to gather himself, hidden away in the shadows of an abandoned shelter in the outskirts of the city.

Weakened and in pain, Credence collapsed against the rough concrete floor, uncaring of the filth. Rats skittered and hid away from him, leaving him completely alone. The shelter was small, full of holes in its roof with the rain gently showering over him and filling the cracked floors with puddles.

Credence closed his eyes and prayed. He prayed for it all to be another nightmare, another image conjured by the Devil to torture him as Ma would always say. He hoped that the betrayal by the one man he fully trusted was but an illusion. He wanted to hear that kind Englishman’s voice again. He wanted to see that warm, kind lady - witch - who saved him from a beating before. Was it all just a dream and he was going crazy?

No, of course not. All this suffering was thanks to him and the darkness he’d so desperately tried to keep inside. Ma was dead, and so was Chastity. What of Modesty? She was the only one whom he could really call family, and he had betrayed her too. He was no different than that man - the wizard with the steely eyes and the imposing presence, the powerful and alluring voice that tempted him, the one he respectfully called Mister Graves - for betraying her trust and involved her in all this. A wrecked sob escaped his throat as Credence curled up in foetal position, shivering from the unforgiving cold.

A glint of something shiny in his hand caught his eye. A triangular trinket, familiar and was once something that would comfort him after every beating. Mister Graves had given it to him, his body and voice so close. And to think it was all a lie made him so ashamed of his foolish, gullible self. He wanted it all to go away. He wanted to disappear, along with the destructive creature that resided in him.

In his desperation, Credence held the trinket close to his heart and thumbed along its shape, murmuring prayers like one would with a rosary.

“Credence?”

Credence’s eyes snapped open and he shrunk back. He felt the creature inside slither, weak but still volatile. It was ready to pounce on whoever was out there.

A figure stepped into the shelter from the only doorway. The familiar, recognizable shape of it made Credence gasp, eyes wide and pressed himself into the corner, as if hoping the shadows would swallow him whole.

“No, no, no, please,” Credence whispered, pleading to the figure as it came closer. “Leave me, please.”

“Credence, shh shh, it’s okay,” the man’s voice was soothing. _Lies_ , Credence reminded himself. The older man stopped himself and knelt before him, palms open in a bid of a friendly, non-hostile gesture. The man looked rumpled, out of place, a little haggard, despite his full attire of his lavish coat and scarf. Not the sleek and proper Mister Graves he was used to. “Credence. I owe you an apology.”

Credence said nothing, wild-eyed as he looked around for an escape route. He caught sight of the slight furrow of the other man's brow and whimpered, as if expecting a blow. The hit from his former hero figure did not go forgotten. Never will.

“Credence, listen to me,” Mister Graves said again, voice low, quiet, and almost pleading. “I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have hit you. I shouldn't have said all of those words.”

Credence didn't dare to move, but he had little to focus on other than Mister Graves’ voice. He tried not to listen, not wanting to be fooled by his treachery again.

“I'm sorry for what I've said,” Mister Graves continued, “You… you're a miracle, Credence. I've been searching for you. You helped me look for the child I spoke of but it was you all along. I was a fool for not seeing it. You really are special, Credence.”

Mister Graves inched closer, but the hiss of the Obscurus kept the man at a reasonable distance. He continued speaking, voice calm, expression softer now, as if understanding.

“I'm so sorry, Credence. Give me a second chance. Let me make it right. Please,” he added. Slowly, he held out his hand. Credence stared at it, still breathing heavily, panicking but just a little calmer. His eyes darted from the offered palm to the man's face, looking deep into his eyes.

“You hit me,” Credence whispered, hating how broken he sounded. Mister Graves’ face fell, and he looked ashamed.

“Yes, I know. I was desperate and I… no, it doesn't excuse my actions. I've done you great wrong, Credence. I want to make up for it, if you allow me. Let me help you. I know you can prove me wrong, show me how powerful and special you are, Credence. I want to see it, and truly, I want the same for you.”

They were the same words as before. _Lies, lies,_ the creature hissed furiously, but Credence was so tired and confused. The face before him was kind, none of the viciousness and anger before. He had no one else, anyway. Where was the man with the red hair and kind voice? Where was the witch who saved him and protected him not once but twice?

“Credence, please,” Mister Graves was so quiet, desperate and pleading now. It stirred something in him, and the creature made a strange sound, as if puzzled and unsure. “I need you.”

Those words, however, left Credence in a heaving sob as he crumbled forward, crying into the dirt.

It was pathetic how a few words left him like that. To be - needed?

Credence half wanted to shove the man away and the other half wanted to take the man's hand, grasp it and pray into it, desperate for any offer of chances.

“Shhh,” he heard Mister Graves say, followed by hands over his back and enveloping into an embrace. The same pair of hands that were always so soft, so large and warm and affectionate, but yet had harmed him once, burning both his body and soul.

“Thank you, Credence. I won't make the same mistake again,” Mister Graves murmured, full of promise, something Credence was so afraid to believe in, but unable to turn away from. With that, Credence felt the tug of magic and felt his body pulled away.

 

\--+--

 

Percival was given a second chance. An opportunity to right his wrongs and redeem himself from his blunder.

Credence.

The boy was truly a miracle.

A wonderful, _powerful_ miracle.

When he saw Credence again, huddled in the shadows of an abandoned shelter he had tracked him to, he could already sense the Obscurus from the doorway. True, it was severely weakened, but with the proof right before him, Percival was sure the boy could regain his strength and return to his peak if given the time.

And Percival will be there to teach him, guide him like he'd promised, despite it being a lie before.

Now the boy was in deep sleep, clearly exhausted and the Side-along Apparition to his hideout did the young man's current state no favours. He'd passed out from the side effects, but it was good for Percival. The boy didn’t rouse or resist while he cleaned him up and put him to bed.

The room felt cramped now, quite claustrophobic due to the extra body taking up the small space, but he could charm the room bigger later. He himself was too exhausted by the day's events, physically and mentally. Shrugging off his heavy coat and scarf, Percival slid down to the floor by the bed, eyes settling on Credence’s sleeping form.

Percival had been truthful; when he pleaded to Credence, that was real. Or as real as it could be. He still had the plans to follow through with, but he _did_ need Credence and he _wanted_ to correct his mistake. Percival was a shrewd, prideful man, but he knew when he was wrong, no matter how much he hated to admit it. And he was the sort to correct such wrongs.

And this was Credence, the longest living known Obscurial, whose power ravaged half of New York and would have killed him easily if it wanted. Weakened but unstable, and showing little to no signs of its existence but Percival won't fall to his foolishness and impatience again. To have that kind of power right beside him, hidden in a young, nearly broken man… he had to be careful and he had to tread lightly. Who knows what would happen if he set the boy off again.

The former Auror shuddered at the thought of the parasitic magic. The way it hissed and slithered and spread its tendrils like a tentacled demon. The way it consumed and destroyed everything, like a black hole capable of sucking the life out of everything in its path. The shadow of Credence's conscience screaming within it as Percival had first spoken to it in an attempt to appeal to the boy had given him chills. That was the first time he felt such fear and awe and wonder. Not even Grindelwald, the most powerful dark wizard Percival had encountered and put him through torture had invoked such raw emotions.

His dark, tired eyes settled over Credence, studying. This boy, with his deathly white skin and hollowed cheeks, healed scars and fresh scabs over the palm of his fragile hands. Chapped, almost blue lips, with dark sunken shadows around his eyes, red from fatigue and tears. But otherwise, beautiful. That New Salem woman had scarred the boy under his clothes, but was careful not to show any other signs of her brand of maternal love on the young man’s face. Perhaps she saw the blessing of God’s beauty on the boy that even she couldn’t deny, and had to refrain from blemishing that perfect face. Who knows how the no-maj think. She was crazy anyway.

But how could he have known?

How could anyone have expected this? Did that woman know? Was that why she focused all her hatred on Credence? That was her error, thinking she could stamp it down, keep it repressed. She had unknowingly stoked the fire within the boy and now that fire had become a blazing inferno. The consequences of her fallacy would be a reminder for Percival. He’d remembered how mutilated the corpses were at the church. Truly, a force to be reckoned with. And to admire.

Percival found himself tucking the boy's disheveled hair behind his ear. An unusual, intimate and sincere gesture he barely ever acted on.

But he had been gentle with the boy all this while, had he not? Kind and patient with Credence, always having to talk slow and careful, using soft words to calm the young man’s soul and with feather light touches to dry his tears. It may have been a pretence before, but…

Percival chuckled tiredly to himself and settled by the bed. He was too exhausted for this that he was becoming sentimental. The bed was too small to fit and Percival didn’t want to wake Credence.

For now, they were allowed to rest. When the next dawn comes they can start a new slate.

Percival closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

 

\--+--

 

Credence woke with a jolt, a scream dying in his throat as he gasped for breath. The unrecognizable room he was in left him scrambling back, only for it to be met by a wall. His chest heaved, his heart still pounding. Where was he…?

Mister Graves?

Memories poured in. The man had found him, asked - _pleaded_ \- for a second chance, and brought him there with magic. But he couldn’t remember what happened after passing out from nausea.

He looked down and his clothes were still his own but he felt cleaner, with less grime and sweat, but the nausea was still there. In one of his hands, the triangular pendant remained. Automatically, his fingers curled around it, unsure whether to throw it away or keep it close.

Credence searched the room but realized he was alone. Not a trace of Mister Graves, other than the familiar coat and blue scarf thrown carelessly over a desk chair. The room he was in was quite large, apparently fitted for two. With a door across the bed slightly ajar and what appears to be the bathroom. It seemed to be empty of anyone else's presence.

He shuddered from an imaginary breeze and brought the blanket on him to cover his shoulders, comforted by the warmth it offered. Credence was still confused and exhausted to really think over everything, but for now he just wanted to hide and cocoon himself in the bed. He prayed that Mister Graves wouldn’t come back from wherever he was so soon.

He didn’t want to be hit. Not again.

Credence caught sight of a wisp of smoke coming from him and closed his eyes, afraid. _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it._

_But what is going to happen now? Why didn’t I just die?_

Credence sniffled.

Then he heard the sound of a loud crack, followed by the thump of feet hitting the ground.

“Credence?”

He didn’t dare move, other than a timid peek over the covers. Mister Graves was without his coat, leaving just his shirt and vest. It was the most casual Credence had seen him.

“You hungry?” the man asked, avoiding eye contact. He had a paper bag of bread and fruit in his arms. Credence willed himself to nod, feeling how dry his lips and throat were. Mister Graves placed an apple on the bed and placed the rest at the dining table Credence didn’t notice before.

Carefully, Credence took the bright red fruit and began to eat, as quietly as he could. The man continued to ignore him, though there was a sense of awkwardness that was strange. Credence could never associate that with the man before, but it felt as if the man was quite determined not to face him as if he didn't know what else to say and didn't want to embarrass himself.

Once Credence was done with his apple he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, more comfortable and relaxed now that his stomach wasn't empty, while Mister Graves disappeared into the kitchen, which, again, Credence hadn’t noticed. Did the wizard just make the formerly small room bigger with magic?

After what seemed like a while, the older man came out with tea, complete with a teapot and teacups and it was such a strange sight that Credence hadn’t realized he was gaping in shock.

A cup of tea was poured and offered to Credence without a word, just a nudge of the cup and a raise of the man’s heavy brows as a silent order to drink. Credence took it quickly and nervously, almost scalding himself in his hurry.

Finally, Mister Graves took the desk chair and sat across him with a sigh.

“How are you feeling, Credence?” Mister Graves asked, their gazes finally meeting.

“B-better, sir,” Credence muttered. Mister Graves’s brows furrowed slightly, just a slight sign of impatience that was enough for Credence to repeat himself, louder this time. “Better.”

“I didn’t mean -” Mister Graves sighed, rubbing at the crease in his brow. He looked tired, much more so than the day before. It had been a day, right? Credence couldn’t tell with the lack of windows in the room. Were they underground?

“I’m… sorry, if I appear more impatient, Credence. It hasn’t been a great week. I’m sure you can relate to that,” the man admitted, in which Credence responded with a slow nod. “Truthfully, I’m not known to be a patient man. But I pro-” the man stopped at his almost promise and chose his words carefully. “I won’t hurt you again. We do, however, need to start on some things. Are you following me so far, boy?”

Credence stared at him, eyes never left his steely gaze. He sounded stilted, as if he wasn’t used to speaking like this, and Credence thought that maybe this was the most truthful the man had been. His voice was stern, strong, but familiar and similar to the soothing tone he’d used before. It left a pang in Credence’s chest. He hadn’t answered, but Mister Graves showed no impatience this time, no pressing for a response.

“Yes, Mister Graves,” Credence replied, voice still hoarse. His answer seemed to make the older man relax, just a little.

“Good… Come, let’s finish breakfast then we can really talk,” Mister Graves said, sounding more relieved than he must have realized, gingerly placing a hand over Credence’s shoulder. Credence stiffened just a little bit, but it was less of a severe reaction than both of them had expected. The wizard withdrew his hand anyway, conjuring up a second seat for Credence at the dining table, where they had a quiet breakfast.

  
At least this time, the silence wasn’t as awkward.


	2. Dua

Wandless magic is an advanced skill, but Percival was confident the boy could do it. With all that power barely contained in him, the Obscurial could bring the world to its knees. He had done so himself when the dark magic cloud loomed over him. Percival remembered the overwhelming awe and beauty that had him frozen to the ground in wonder, unsure whether he minded being consumed by such power. The thought brought a smirk to his lips, until Credence called his name in an uncertain whisper, with a concerned tone and a questioning look.

“Nothing, just lost in thought, my boy,” Percival assured with a light smile. As usual, Credence ducked his head in response, and returned to his books, reading up on the basics of magic. Credence didn't like to look at him much, more pointedly so than before.

It had been a mere week since they first settled in Percival’s bunker. After their little falling out and reunion, there had been a bit of a gap between them. Unsurprising, Percival thought, but they were getting along now, or he hoped they were. The boy was more close-lipped and flinched away from him every time he got close, but at least the Obscurus didn't go berserk. That was a good start in Percival’s books.

They had time to waste for the moment, still in the midst of laying low, but Percival was restless. He knew his hideout was safe for now, tucked away underground with a secret tunnel and buried way out of New York city. Percival Graves’ reputation wasn’t a lie; he was skilled in every protective charms and needed jinxes that would keep them safe and out of searching eyes.

Percival had decided not to contact Grindelwald directly yet. He’d sent a sign, a cryptic message of his predicament, but otherwise, he wasn’t ready to communicate with the dark wizard. Maybe, until his mission was truly complete, when Credence - the Obscurial, was ready.

But how long would that take?

He’d told Credence of his plans - to teach him magic and control. He’d told him of his situation too, not exactly truth, and not exactly a lie - that he had been branded a traitor by his fellow wizards for obstructing their justice on an Obscurial who risked their exposure to the no-maj. That only seemed to confuse the boy, so Percival didn’t go into detail. Percival told Credence that once he was ready with his magic, then they can meet Grindelwald, and they can help others like them; that would be their bigger purpose.

“Like you, Credence,” Percival had said. “We can save suffering wizards oppressed by no-maj like your mother.” It had been the wrong thing to say, as Credence had nearly imploded from bad memories, the wispy black-red smoke intensifying in volume and spreading through the bunker before it was sucked back into the younger man’s body by sheer willpower. Credence had to rest for the remainder of the day.

Needless to say, they had much to work on.

The next time Credence awoke, the boy made no mention or acknowledgement of Percival’s plans. The former Auror wasn’t keen on triggering the boy again, so he let it rest. They could focus on the practical learning instead.

Thankfully, while Credence was more reluctant to speak than before, a stubborn, bolder streak had surfaced. It could be due to acknowledging the presence of his Obscurus, or his growing familiarity with Percival (even if he was still not willing to talk much to the man), or it could just be that this was the boy’s real character, and Percival had overlooked it. Too busy frantically searching for a powerful child who'd turn out to be right under his nose. Percival had known the young man was also smart and eager despite still quite meek, but it had begun to be more apparent. He had a thirst of knowledge, almost fierce, as if desperate to fill in the void in his childhood from lack of learning. His mother had prohibited the Barebone children from learning of anything else other than the word of their god, or of the destruction of witches.

Percival had readily offered the young man his books and taught him all that he asked, allowing Credence to learn at his pace. He had boundless potential, and Percival so desired to see it bloom.

Of course, Percival still had to steer the boy to certain things. Necessary basics like Disillusionment and Transfiguration in the case that they might have to resort to disguise; Healing, obviously, and he’d noted that Credence seemed keen to learn it, for reasons not needed to be said.

Offensive and protective magic could come later, but Percival wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. He had spare wands for Credence to use to direct the offensive magic onto a target, but it was the Obscurus he was worried about… Anger and negative emotion often came with such magic, and similarly could set off the volatile parasitic magic, so there was much for Percival to be wary of. He made note of it to be extra prepared when they would eventually approach the subjects, but for now, basics had to be mastered, wandless or not.

Over the following days. Percival had caught the boy practicing on his own when he thought he wasn’t looking. Credence would mutter spells, holding out his hands, wandless, but Percival could sense the crackling magic there, sometimes manifested in the form of smoke.

Credence was still closed off from him, still untrusting, and while Percival’s patience was wearing thin, he’d had to remind himself over and over again. _Be patient. Tread lightly. We need the Obscurus._

He could only hope that time would lower the young man’s defences and they’d get to proper learning.

“ _Accio,_ ” Credence muttered under his breath, a palm out as if conjuring something. Percival watched from the other side of the bunker, having given the Barebone boy his space. Said boy wasn’t looking at anything as the intended target, body tucked at his now favourite corner of the bunker and eyes still fixed on the book he was reading the spell from. His slender fingers wriggled, as if beckoning, but it was an absent-minded gesture. “ _Accio,_ ” he repeated, “ _Accio._ ” And then -

A clang and a zip of movement.

The teapot flew from the dining table where Percival sat, straight to Credence’s hand. Both Credence and Percival looked at each other, stunned. A still silence hung over them as both slowly registered what had happened.

“You did it,” Percival breathed, feeling a stunned smile form on his features. That was a pleasant surprise . It was too soon and the boy wasn't even _focusing_ , yet he'd the performed his first wandless magic. What else could he do? What if Credence procured his own wand, something that could mould and refine his power? As Percival thought it over, he looked to Credence who was-

Glowing. Not literally, of course, but his eyes lit up as he grinned from ear to ear, the happiest Percival had ever seen him. Filled with wonderment and pride at his first successful display of magic, a child-like bearing over his refined features. But as abruptly as the boy smiled, he must have realized how open he was with his emotion and immediately ducked his head down once again, though a flush could be seen over his cheeks. They were no longer sunken from malnourishment, and had grown rosier from the food and warmth Percival had provided him with.

“Thank you,” Credence murmured, sounding shy rather than afraid. Percival had almost tried to reach out for an affirming grip to his shoulder like he'd done before, but remembered that Credence didn't like that now. He rewarded the boy with a hot drink instead.

After that, Credence began to open up, albeit at a snail's pace. He was still reluctant to speak with Percival, but he'd ask questions boldly, hungry for answers. Eventually, he became more willing to learn and listen to him, ready to eat up all the knowledge and guidance Percival had to offer. Credence was ready to receive, and Percival was eager to give.

Another week passed, and then another.

A couple more came and went.

Time went by faster as they stayed sheltered and away from the city. The quiet of their hideout was calming and liberating, even when Percival kept constant vigilance of the Aurors still searching for him.

Most of the time they stayed in their bunker, while Percival left only to get food and supplies as Credence remained. Sometimes Credence would use a given spare wand as he practiced, but most of the time he didn’t need to. A couple had splintered anyway, unable to bear Credence’s immense energy, causing Percival to persuade the boy to attempt wandless magic more often. He couldn’t risk purchasing new wands when they were so closely monitored.

They continued his training - sometimes Credence by himself learning from books when he preferred to be alone, other times he’d bravely ask Percival to show him wand work and throw him tidbits of magical history. Over time, Credence grew more confident of himself and his skills, less stuttering with a straighter back, and soon Percival brought him out of the bunker too, with Side-Along Apparition.

The first couple of times Credence had expectedly thrown up, but at the same time it’d almost set the Obscurus off, like a tantrum child reacting to unfavourable situations.

It had left Percival shaken and worse for wear after being pinned down by the kinetic dark mass, but Credence had desperately reeled it in and managed not to kill the former Auror, much to Percival’s relief. While Percival does admire the dark magic’s power, he wasn't keen on dying too soon. Credence was a guilty mess after and Percival had to coax him out of his shell all over again.

Percival was amazed he hadn't thrown his wand down and yelled at the young man in frustration yet, but not wanting to die from a magical ticking bomb may have been the reason. He hadn't gone soft, truly.

After a few more reluctant experiences with Side-Along Apparition, Credence had grown accustomed to it. Percival did not fail to notice that the boy clung to him a little too close sometimes, but he didn't see it as an issue.

Thereafter, they’d begun on Transfiguration, in case they might need tools or even use it to stall an enemy. _Think out of the box_ , Percival had said and sometimes Credence would show a mischievous side by transfiguring scuttling mice or insects into trinkets or flowers.

Credence, Percival realized, grew less afraid of him, more trusting and more often meeting his eyes when they spoke. Certain words and certain topics still left the boy desperately gasping for breath and hide away in his corner, but those moments were growing less common. Physical touch became less of a hindrance and increasingly welcomed, and they were back to their dynamic before. Back to comforting touches and encouraging words, with Credence leaning into Percival’s palm on his cheek. Acting like nothing bad had ever happened.

Percival was encouraged by how fast they were progressing, and pleasantly surprised at how easily Credence was settling into his magic. What would have taken a normal wizard years to learn was nothing for Credence. At the rate they were going, Credence could surpass the average Auror in a year. The younger man had made a drastic change physically - his skin had a healthy glow and his eyes bright; his pale, sullen lanky self just a mere shadow left in the past. Rosy cheeks and pink lips often bitten when deep in thought. Dark, sharp eyes that lit up each time he successfully performs a spell, or downcast and dim when bad thoughts manage to sneak into his mind. But Percival was sure the boy was getting stronger, more in control. He’d seen less of the Obscurus smoke and more of Credence’s smiles.

Maybe they wouldn’t need to hide much longer.

 

\--+--

 

“Mister Graves!” was the first thing Percival heard after a crack of a whip and the heavy footsteps that followed. Percival didn’t believe what he thought he saw at first.

“Did you just- _Apparate_?” Percival asked as he stepped out of the kitchen to meet the boy. The residual magic told him of the successful spell, and the former Auror was in awe and impressed by the advanced wandless magic the younger man had showcased. Wisps of black smoke trailed after Credence, but there was no trace of dark residual magic of the Obscurus. Just the familiar warm residue of Credence’s signature power.

It was a total surprise. Percival had read to him briefly about how to do it, and they’ve been doing alright with Side-Along Apparation, but he didn’t expect Credence to actually do it on his own. And no splinching, too; a perfect execution of high level teleporting magic.

“I-I think so,” Credence replied breathless, looking _proud_. Percival clapped his shoulders, gripping them firmly, grinning back at the younger man.

“A miracle,” Percival praised, eyes fixed on Credence’s increasingly flushed cheeks. Credence blinked as he stared and him,  stepped back out of Percival’s hands and brushed his bangs out of his eyes - _Time for haircut?_ Percival thought fleetingly - as he hung his head with a muttered gratitude.

“I’m tired now though. It was quite hard to do… Took me a while. And the instructions weren’t clear...” the boy mumbled, seemingly rambling to himself. When he saw Percival’s inquisitive look, he cleared his throat. “Do you… need help?” Credence asked, glancing up at Percival and then to the kitchen, where the older man was in to prepare dinner. It sounded awfully domestic, and Percival had just realized it.

“No, I'm fine. You keep on practicing, what else were you reading up on?” the former Auror asked. His eyes narrowed slightly when Credence hesitated in his response. Percival had learned to recognise the signs when Credence was dishonest or uncomfortable with something: a slight tilt of his head as he stared hard at the ground, with his shoulders slightly coiled in tension.

“Tracking. I… I want to look for Modesty,” Credence replied, voice shaky and uncertain. “I want to know if she's alright.”

Percival stared at him blankly. He'd forgotten about the youngest Barebone. After he'd left her to pursue Credence she was out of his thoughts since she wasn't of use. He could only presume that the Aurors had went around to properly Obliviate all the no-maj including Modesty.

She would most likely be homeless or taken in by another orphanage. It had been a couple of months after all. Percival wasn't optimistic about her fate, but it might be better than the abusive home of the New Salem Society. Percival didn't want to risk being traced, and he didn't want to waste time on this when Credence had so much more to learn.

But his response was taking too long. Credence had seen something in his expression and stepped back once again, tugging at his fingers nervously.

“Credence-”

“I need to go look for her, Mister Graves,” the boy insisted, sounding agitated. Percival did not miss the wisps of Obscurus smoke emanating from him.

“Credence, listen to me. It's still not safe. We can't risk wandering around while they're still looking for me. And you. What if someone recognises you?”

“Magic! You've taught me enough, haven't you? We can do Transfiguration or that Notice Me Not charm, I've been learning -”

“It’s too risky -”

“And you taught me, and I can do it, you saw how I -”

“There are Aurors still -”

“What if she’s homeless, and scared, and alone and -”

“Credence!” Percival chastised, grabbing the young man by the shoulders roughly this time, his voice dangerously low. “You're not ready. _Listen to me, you foolish boy._ The same Aurors who were ordered to put you down are still out there. If they see you, we have to hide, away from here, further from your sister. You need to wait.”

Credence glared at him, a mix of fear and anger that rimmed his eyes red and shoulders trembling. Percival realized what he'd done. Too rough, too aggressive. Credence wasn't ready for that too.

“I’m -”

“I understand,” Credence interrupted him. But his voice was quiet. Did he really understand? They stared each other down for what seemed like minutes. For a moment, Percival was worried that the boy would break out the Obscurus. He'd never seen him meet his gaze so hard and defiant before. Except for that one time he'd first revealed himself, Percival’s mind supplied.

“...Good. Just - stay put, and I’ll have dinner ready,” Percival said as he watched the boy warily.

Credence said nothing. But before Percival could do anything, Credence turned and Disapparated, black-red smoke left in his wake.

Fuck.

He didn't even have time to set up a ward for that.

 

\--+--

 

Percival Apparated into an alley near the now fallen Barebone family church. The building had been left as it was, apparently sealed off for ‘traces of gas’ that was always the convenient excuse for the no-maj. The ruins should be the first place to look. He knew Credence was still attached, still unable to tear away from his past despite all the bad memories. He'd heard the boy cry out and whimper in his sleep, waking up terrified and confused. Percival could relate to how similar it was to the first time he had gone through the war and battled dark wizards. The following times after, Percival left a mug of hot cocoa charmed to remain warm for the boy whenever he had a night terror. Credence would always clean the emptied mug without magic and reciprocated with coffee for him as silent thanks.

He'd heard Credence calling out for his younger sister as well, but never had the heart to talk about it with him. Always avoiding the hard subjects that they really needed to talk about.

When he finds the boy, they'd need to talk about Grindelwald too. He hadn't even told him of the message he'd sent to the dark wizard, that the Obscurial was almost ready. And the response he received that the dark wizard might be on his way.

Percival cursed under his breath. He'd never been a great Tracker even as an Auror, more of a Duelist. To find Credence, a powerful, unique wizard who'd done miracles, wandless and even non-verbal ones, was going to be difficult. The boy might be a novice in magic and spells but his potent power made up for it.

Where could he have gone? Percival searched his memories. _Where else?_ He doubted it would be the alleys, and he doubted the boy would be stupid enough to skulk around the Woolworth building. Somewhere Modesty would be…

He remembered the building where he last saw the girl. The place where Credence said she'd been adopted from. Percival moved.

He Apparated into the room where Credence had first revealed himself as the Obscurial. The once ruined building must have been repaired by the clear-up crew. There was no trace of the boy, but the memory of their incident in the room was still fresh in his mind. The ache of his disappointment in himself, his terrible words and the sorrowful look on Credence’s face lingered. Had he taken the wrong step again?

What if he lost Credence for good this time?

Percival took a deep breath, calming himself. Too early to start panicking. He was the Director of Security, dammit. He moved on quietly to search the rooms, looking for any trace of residual magic.

He heard muffled voices downstairs. The former Auror set up a stealth charm and approached, keeping a good distance, hidden at the top of the stairs.

He spotted Modesty, and Credence too. The girl looked the same. A good thing, maybe. At least she was dressed enough. She looked confused, but discomfort and apprehension was clear on her face as Credence spoke to her.

“Don't you recognise me, Modesty?” Percival heard him say. He sounded so sad and desperate. A couple of months weren’t enough to heal the scars of the heart and mind.

“I don’t know who you are, but if I’m trespassing, I’m sorry -” Modesty said, stepping away.

“Modesty, it’s me, Credence, your brother,” Credence tried, kneeling down as he approached her.

“I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me!” Modesty cried, scared of the stranger; all memories of her adoptive-brother turned Obscurial had been Obliviated from her young mind. The look of hurt was etched deep into Credence’s face as he stopped himself from moving any closer. It took him awhile to say his next words.

“No, I’m sorry,” Credence said, voice stilted and watery. Percival could see his hands curl into fists, but not out of anger. “Head home now… I’m glad you’re alright, Modesty,” Credence added, sounding so small. The girl didn’t acknowledge his words, running past the young man to wherever her new home was.

Percival allowed the moment to hang over him, before he dared to approach Credence. The young man remained where he was as if fixed to the spot, and  continued to stare at nothing. “Credence…” the older man called, soft and slow, not wanting to startle him. But Credence did not respond other than raising his gaze to him.

“Did you know?” Credence asked, voice so small and fragile, teetering on breaking.

“I… I only presumed, but that’s what we would have done for the no-maj,” Percival replied slowly. “She’s alright now, isn’t she?”

“Yes. It’s better this way, I guess,” Credence said. He stood up and faced Percival who wasn’t sure what else to say. “I just thought she’d at least remember me. She was the only one who really cared.”

Percival had remembered the boy’s brotherly concern for her. Sometimes he’d heard him recounting of moments where she would take the blame for him, or hold his hand in comfort. The only real family he had.

“Let’s go home, Credence,” Percival tried, offering a hand to the boy.

“Home,” Credence parroted blankly, as if the word was foreign to him. His dark eyes studied Percival, as if searching for something. Percival didn’t know what, but did not question it when Credence eventually took the offered hand. “Let’s go home.”

Another week passed without incident. They hadn’t gone back to the city, and Credence continued his studies.

Percival noted how distant he became, more withdrawn, but nothing bad. No sign of the Obscurus and no news from Grindelwald either. Everything appeared to be just fine.

But maybe - just _maybe_ \- Percival missed the boy’s laughter.


	3. Tiga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand how the big bads of the Wizarding World are so cartoony in the movies. First it was sad-faced Voldemort, now pirate man Gellert Grindelwald... So unfortunate...
> 
> Anyways, I had time so I decided to update again. A Happy New Year treat :) may the new year be a much better one than the last.

 “Credence, wake up,” Mister Graves shook him awake, insistent and rough but not enough to hurt. Credence sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Mister Graves?” Credence asked, voice hoarse from sleep. Credence could never be able to tell the time in the windowless bunker, but it was most likely in the wee hours of the morning. The older man was by his bed, pulling on a coat.

“Wash your face and get dressed. We need to go somewhere,” he said, leaving no room for argument. Not that Credence would argue.

Credence quickly cleaned up and slipped on the waistcoat and jacket - Mister Graves’ again, so they were a little big - and was given a spare wand. The tension surrounding the older wizard left Credence nervous so he dared not to speak up.

But Mister Graves stood in front of him, a hand slid over Credence’s neck and cupped his nape. Credence winced just a little, before he relaxed. The gesture, Credence had learned, was a silent request for him to meet his gaze. Credence did, and saw nothing but a tight, controlled expression. He wasn’t sure if Mister Graves was angry or afraid.

“Remember who I spoke of, the man who gave me a mission to look for the Obscurial - to look for you? His name is Gellert Grindelwald, we’re going to go meet him,” Mister Graves informed him, voice barely a whisper despite it only being the two of them in the bunker. “He is - dangerous, Credence. I want you to stay close to me, do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“He might say - things - that might upset you, but I know you have control now, Credence, you’ve proven yourself. You've done good for me, dear boy. Can you do that?” Mister Graves continued, his eyes hardened with all seriousness. It made Credence even more anxious and absently bit his lip. Mister Graves’ eyes glanced at them.

“Yes, Mister Graves.”

“Good boy. I want you to keep that wand with you at all times. I don’t want you to show him that you can do wandless magic. Not until I say it’s okay.”

“Yes.”

“And don’t go wandering off and -”

“Mister Graves,” Credence spoke up, meeting his eyes, feeling bolder, almost fearless now, despite how anxious both of them seem to be. “I’ll be alright. I’ll stick close to you.”

“...Good. Right,” the man nodded and moved to Credence’s side. “Let’s go.”

They Disapparated out of the bunker and to an unfamiliar alleyway. Somewhere in the city, but not recognizable to Credence. Mister Graves beckoned him to follow and Credence trailed him as they walked through winding paths around buildings.

As they walked, Credence wondered why Mister Graves was so nervous. This man he’d spoken of - Grindelwald - Mister Graves was his follower was he not? He knew nothing of this man but Mister Graves was wary of him despite following his orders. Was he forced into this? Did something happen? Mister Graves mentioned nothing else about his plan other than teaching Credence control and magic, and eventually to meet Grindelwald. He didn’t know what else was in store after that.

Credence hadn’t cared much about it then, too thrilled and nervous and distracted by the thought of controlling the creature in him and learn magic. Mister Graves had incentive to take him in again, and though the venomous words before had always burned a part of him, the man had indeed taught him and sheltered him. Credence had nowhere else to go anyway.

There were instances when the man showed signs of his frustration, his impatience and Credence had heard him cursing blasphemous words under his breath, but true to his word, the man never raised a hand towards him or scolded him again. While Credence may have relaxed and opened himself to the man, he made sure to keep his guard up.

Credence wasn’t stupid. He knew the man didn’t need _him_ . He needed the creature _inside_ him - the Obscurus. Credence was just the vessel. The wonder and awe and pride directed towards him was not for him as the person, but for that creature. Credence was essentially nothing without it. A blessing, Credence tried to tell himself, that there was at least something he could do and be needed for. He would have been thrown away again, if he wasn’t this Obscurial.

And he’d seen the apprehension even despite the intrigue in Mister Graves’ eyes around him, especially when Credence was moody. He would stand just a step further away, or he’d use soothing - patronising - words to calm Credence down. Sometimes he’d just leave Credence alone to learn or study by himself.

Credence didn’t blame him though. Anyone would be afraid of him. He was an unnatural monster and a devil, after all. Just like his Ma once said.

But it had grown progressively better. As weeks had gone by, Credence had gotten better with his control and learned new things. He had been scared to reach out to his magic initially; all it did was earn him beatings, insults and suffering. It had harmed people, _killed_ even _,_ and Credence was so afraid to harm anyone else, even Mister Graves.

The Obscurus was a curse given to him by the Devil, Credence was sure. What about his magic? Were they one and the same? He knew magic wasn’t bad - the proof was the kind witch who saved him, and Mister Graves who had used it to heal him. It was _him_ who was bad, and he needed to control it, even if it meant fraternizing with the Devil himself.

Embracing his magic had been an indescribable experience. While the Obscurus felt heavy and dark and smothering, his magic was something warm and bright. Credence had difficulty finding it in the first place, hidden under layers of black fog and negative emotions that he’d almost lost control again. At times he still felt the creature’s tendrils, slipping into his skin, wanting to consume his consciousness.

Credence turned to focusing on reading. The piles of books Mister Graves had in that bunker had been helpful in keeping his mind from straying. Credence hadn’t had many opportunities to read anything else other than the Bible and pamphlets of witch hunting, so the magical publications with moving illustrations took all of his attention. Some brought him laughs (careful not to laugh too loud), others left him speechless in amazement, and Credence absorbed as much information as he could. It made him more daring, had him attempting to reach out and use his magic more.

And when he finally did, with that _Accio_ spell - Mister Graves had looked so proud of him.

Or was he proud of the Obscurial?  

The man had never truly smiled before, other than smirks or a shade of a positive emotion. Credence couldn’t picture the man laughing either. The proud smile had been so special to Credence that it was enough to light up a fire in him. It drove Credence to do better, enforcing his focus and will and keeping a firm grip on his magic and control. As long as somehow he was the cause of it, to get those small smiles and soft words in his ear, Credence could do it. Against his wishes, the man had become his anchor now.

Credence had been fearful of the man’s touches at first; the slap from the wizard previously still seared over his face as a constant reminder. It took at least a month before Credence didn’t violently flinch from even a brush of his fingertips on him. Mister Graves’ constant presence must have been the reason, his voice always there, stern yet guiding, sometimes an undertone of impatience, but he was always there and become a rooted part of his life for now.

A steady grip on his wrist. A gentle, assuring clap to his shoulder. A smooth rub over his neck. A gentle caress to his cheek. The small gestures of the wizard’s approval also came in other ways,  like a new book for Credence to read, a new coat, or even the mugs of hot cocoa the man often left for him.

How could Credence not fall for it, when he was reduced to nothing and so many things were dangled right in front of him? What they had before was destroyed by Mister Graves’ betrayal, but was the man really trying now? Was it all sincere or another pretense? Credence could not decide how he really felt about the man.

But Credence had to remember that it wasn’t him that Mister Graves needed, it was the Obscurus. Credence would take what Mister Graves offered until he’d have no use for him, perhaps. After that, he can survive on his own with what he’d learned.

“Credence, in you go,” Mister Graves’ voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Apparently they’d reached their destination.

A dark, shady speakeasy that was surprisingly filled with wizards, witches and magical creatures. Jazz music played in the background with strange looking performers. A goblin - short but stout, with a pointy nose and ears and dangerous dark eyes approached them who appeared to be their host. He was attired in a mobster look, a cigar between his lips and a wand in his holster. The goblin had a giant presence despite his small stature.

“So you’re the Obscu-” the goblin began as he looked over Credence but was shushed by Mister Graves who shot him a warning look. “Ah, if it isn’t the former Director.”

“Don’t start with me, Gnarlack,” Percival snarled. Credence was cowed by the tone, but the goblin seemed unfazed.

“...Right. It’s at the back. Thanks to you, we’ll have to move this whole joint again once you fugitives leave,” Gnarlack sneered.

The goblin pressed on the word fugitive, sounding amused as he stared at Mister Graves. Credence did remember that the wizard was a former magical officer. He had called him ‘Director’, so he was a very important person wasn’t he? And now he was a wanted fugitive…  It hadn’t exactly hit Credence until just then, even though Mister Graves had told him of their situation before. He was wanted as he was seen as a traitor for trying to protect Credence, the Obscurial who had almost cost the wizarding community with exposure to the no-maj.

Mister Graves guided Credence to a private back room, hand planted firmly on Credence’s back. The man had schooled his features but even Credence could tell the man was highly strung.

They stopped in front of the door and Mister Graves knocked twice. The door opened by itself.

“Percival,” a German-accented voice drawled from within the room. “And… Credence, was it?”

Grindelwald.

Mister Graves nudged Credence inside. Both of them took a seat across the dark wizard. Pale hair and a manicured moustache. Credence didn’t know who the man was, but he could very easily tell why Mister Graves had been so nervous. He could sense the power and intellect from the man before them; he was clearly cunning, dangerous, and unpredictable. More so than his own beast that was snarling inside.

“Hmm, a little underwhelming, isn’t he?” Grindelwald stated, strange-coloured eyes studying Credence like one would of an experimental subject.

“He’s as ready as he can be with a few month’s training,” Mister Graves said irritably, pulling the man’s attention to him.

“Can he control it then?”

“He- can do _potent_ magic,” Mister Graves replied carefully.

“But not control the Obscurus?” Grindelwald asked again, tipping his head and looking bemused.

“It’s too volatile. It’s a creature with its own will - and without its host, it’s useless,” Mister Graves continued. Credence tried not to flinch at the word ‘useless’.  He caught Mister Graves’ apologetic glance.

“Hmm,” Grindelwald looked to Credence, an interested smirk on his lips. The man studied Credence a little longer, and Credence did all he could not to physically squirm under his gaze. His eyes were unnerving, and Credence hadn’t felt this uncomfortable with someone in a long while. Even he was used to his Ma’s nasty looks. “We’ll put that to the test. Come, my boy. Let’s see what you can do.”

Grindelwald stood and beckoned Credence to him. From the corner of his eye, Credence could see Mister Graves’ jaw clenching.

“Go,” Mister Graves said, a few seconds too late.

Credence did as he was told, could only rely on his trust - no matter how weak it was now - on Mister Graves. He walked towards the dark wizard, who held him by the shoulder with a smile, and  promptly Disapparated with him.

 

\--+--

 

Percival was worried. He was not a worrier. He always acted, do something - anything - to quell his worries.

This time, though, there wasn’t much he could do.

He was worried for Credence. What was Grindelwald going to do with him? Percival may believe in the man and his vision for wizardkind, but he knew the man wasn’t exactly sane. The man was his own brand of extreme, and Percival had chased after him before. He knew the atrocities the dark wizard had done even if it was all for the greater good.

Percival just didn’t like what Grindelwald might have in store for Credence. He knew the boy’s power would be needed, but the boy was much too innocent, still too kind and naive even with all the cruelty inflicted on him. A few months’ preparation and training wasn’t going to be enough or ready for what they would be doing. Grindelwald needed the Obscurus, not Credence, but the host was imperative. Would Grindelwald persuade Credence the way he did to Percival?

If he did, then it would be a very grave error.  He doubted anything would be able to stop the Obscurus if Credence were to fully break another time.

It felt like hours before both figures Apparated into the room again, with Credence looking distressed than anything. He could feel that the boy was vulnerable, but he didn’t see any sign of the Obscurus. Percival didn’t hesitate to go to his boy’s side, cupping his carved cheeks in his hands and held the younger man’s distant gaze, wordlessly calling Credence back.

“What did you do to him,” Percival demanded, sounding harsher than he expected. Grindelwald smiled at him.

“I showed him the truth. How we have been suffering under our oppressors and how the Statute of Secrecy is nothing more than cowardice,” the dark wizard replied steadily. “Nothing to scar your poor boy for life I’m sure, Percival. I can tell he’s very delicate.”

Percival held back the growl that almost escaped him. He turned back to Credence, who seemed to have regained some of his focus, blinking slowly and watching him. “Credence, look at me. Are you alright?”

“You should let him rest, Percival. I think he needs some time to register it all,” Grindelwald told him, interrupting them once again. “He is a very unique boy. Very strong. I’m glad you did your mission well in finding him. I think we can count on dear Credence very soon.”

The wizard returned to his seat and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“You won’t need us for a while then?” Percival asked, keeping cool.

“I’ll call for you soon, Percy,” Grindelwald replied condescendingly, making use of the pet name the former Auror so hated. “I would like to teach the boy myself.” Percival said nothing about that but the look on his face was clear he wasn’t in agreement. The dark wizard chose to ignore it.

Percival led Credence out, ignoring the other patrons in the speakeasy and immediately Disapparated them away from the place.

They got back to their bunker safe. No one had followed them, and Percival had made sure of that.

“Mister Graves…?”

“Hey,” Percival brought them both to bed, Credence seated on the side and Percival knelt before him. “Are you alright, my boy?”

Credence nodded, blinking away the welled up tears in his eyes. “I’m okay.”

Percival kept his hands on Credence’s face. The boy always seemed to lean and relax into it. It still worked. “Did he do anything to you?”

“No… he just showed me… the victims of the war,” Credence said in a near stutter. “There were so many…” Ah, so Grindelwald had showed him some of their prisoners of war and the survivors of the followers who’d fought for their cause. He'd seen some of them. Some were horribly disfigured, some had gone mad, and others tortured. Not something for a young man who'd gone through almost the same thing to be reminded of. “He told me I could help them. He told me that if I helped, I could put all the pain and scars away, not just for me, but for others like me.” Credence rubbed at his scarred palms, dragging Percival’s gaze to them.

“Did he -” Percival began, his voice somehow caught in his throat. “Did he touch you?” Percival questioned, unsure what he was really asking.

“He just held my hand. I - I almost lost control when I couldn’t stand seeing so much,” Credence breathed shakily. “But! But I didn’t lose control, Mister Graves, I kept it hidden. He didn’t see my Obscurus!” Credence quickly added, sounding panicked, not wanting to disappoint Percival.

“Shh, shh, I know, Credence. You were wonderful, you did good,” Percival immediately said as the young man clung to him, breathing too rapidly for his liking. “I was just worried he’d place a charm on you without your notice. But I’ve checked, you’re fine,” Percival lied, calming Credence by stroking his thumb along his nape. Credence’s eyes widened fractionally, then relaxed, breathing in deeply.

Percival found himself - _surprisingly_ \- angry at the thought of the dark wizard having physical contact with the boy. But the other man had said some things that had Percival thinking, as if he had gotten a gauge of Credence’s power. Was Credence’s near slip from control enough to let Grindelwald get a good read on him?

“I’m scared of him, Mister Graves,” Credence confessed, clutching Percival tightly. He could almost feel the boy trembling. “He’s - worse than Ma - than Mary Lou.”

“No, Credence,” Percival corrected immediately. “Your adoptive mother was mad. She kept your magic down with her abuse. No witch or wizard deserves that. Grindelwald - He -” Percival tried to calm his thoughts, unsure what he was trying to say. “He’s doing it for the greater good. For us magic folk. He'll free us, and we won't have to hide anymore. Remember that.”

“Mister Graves,” Credence breathed, looking up to meet his gaze, concern brimming in his eyes. A knowing look clouded his gaze, and Percival held his breath. “Did that man hurt you too?”

Percival responded too quickly but the word left his lips before he could catch it.  “No.” His tone was frost. Red, ominous light blinded his vision, followed by a voice murmuring the Cruciatus curse echoed at the back of his head.  His changed expression was enough to freeze Credence. “We’re fighting a war. People tend to get hurt.”

“Now go rest, Credence,” Percival ordered disparagingly, standing and walking off from the boy. He retreated to the kitchen, not daring to look at Credence’s face and into  the only private place he could hide in other than the bathroom.

Percival breathed deep, repressing certain memories that threatened to resurface. _We’re doing this For The Greater Good._ _We’re doing this For The Greater Good._ _All we’ve done is For The Greater Good._ He repeated that to himself over and over again.

Once he’d poured himself a mug of coffee and gathered his nerves, he went back to the bedroom space. Credence had cocooned himself in his blankets, back to Percival and facing the wall, curled up and making himself as small as possible. Guilt washed over him at the sight.

He conjured up a mug of hot cocoa - Credence’s favourite - and placed it by the young man’s bedside table. He leaned just a little over Credence, staring at the smaller figure wordlessly before he too withdrew into his own bed at the opposite side of the room.

 

\--+--

 

The meetings with Grindelwald grew increasingly often. They always went to a new place to meet, never at the same spot somewhere in the city and constantly moving. They were constantly vigilant and careful not to be caught.

Credence didn’t like the man at all. It was clear the wizard was brilliant and powerful and charismatic, but Credence hated how he disregarded the importance of people’s lives. Anyone against his cause was disposable, and the non-magical people were below him. And most of all, Credence hated how much the man was affecting Mister Graves.

Mister Graves was becoming more jumpy, anxious, and paranoid. When Credence had asked him before - _Did the man hurt you too?_ \- he did not expect such a cold response. But it was the answer that Credence needed. Grindelwald had done _something_ to Mister Graves. How did Mister Graves end up following this man?

The older wizard began to sleep less, and when he did, he’d woken Credence up with his night terrors and spoke little, pointedly avoiding any attempt to broach the subject. The man had always been reserved and intense, but he had become like a wall, unwilling to respond. He still continued to guide and teach Credence, but he did so without the approving smiles and encouraging touches. What used to be Credence’s self-study breaks were passed to Grindelwald.

The dark wizard was an excellent teacher, much to Credence’s distress. He was good enough that he had Credence learning offensive spells with relative ease despite his reluctance. Credence was afraid of the man, afraid that he’d be led to do something he wouldn’t want to.

Credence realized that the wizard’s method of teaching and persuasion was awfully familiar. Mister Graves had used this… this way of coaxing to lead him. He used persuasive words and sweet talk as praise, but was less physical than Mister Graves though.

However there were huge differences too. While the former Auror rewarded him with comforting touches and warm smiles - regardless if they were  fake - in comparison, Grindelwald could be vicious in his teaching and impatient, but it was the cold sort of fury that made Credence nauseous from the similarity to his late adoptive mother.

Thankfully, this time, Mister Graves was there with him. Though the man had spoken nearly next to nothing other than becoming a sparring partner for Credence under Grindelwald’s orders. However, that also meant Credence was even more hesitant with the man as a target.

“Focus, Credence,” Grindelwald demanded and had Credence repeat the wand movement and spell. “It won’t hurt your Mister Graves. It’s just a basic Disarming Spell, Credence. Again.”

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Credence murmured, pointing his spare wand at Mister Graves’ raised one. The wand barely moved. Credence swallowed as he felt the disapproval from the dark wizard stood beside him.

“Disappointing,” the dark wizard admonished, eyes boring into Credence’s skull. “Should I show you how? Watch and look closely, boy,” Grindelwald drawled, and with a strong, controlled wave of his hand - wandless - “ _Expulso._ ” Mister Graves was knocked back from a explosive blast of energy, his wand tossed out of his hold.

“Mister Graves!” Credence stepped forward to the man but Grindelwald’s fierce grip on his arm held him back.

“I’m fine, Credence,” Mister Graves called, getting to his knees. He sounded out of breath, and no matter what the former Auror said, he was clearly not _fine_. Mister Graves summoned his wand to his hand and raised it again for Credence.

“The man said so himself. Now, do the spell. Disarm him,” Grindelwald pulled Credence back to his position, either unconcerned or ignoring how the young man was breathing a little heavier.

“Ex- _Expelliarmus_ ,” Credence attempted. Nothing.

“Again.”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Still nothing.

Grindelwald didn’t bother with an incantation, and this time, the magical explosion was bigger and knocked Mister Graves hard into the nearest wall, leaving the man groaning in pain.

“Gra-”

“Each time you fail, Credence, Percival will be _my_ target practice,” the older man warned. He whirled Credence around to face him. His rough hand stroked the top of Credence's head, like a parent would to a child. The foreign touch made the creature squirm and it took all Credence had not to splinter. “I know you can do it, Credence. You have power, something magnificent and beautiful. You can do _that_ , and you can use your Obscurus.”

“I don’t want to… If I do there’s no stopping,” Credence pleaded, taking in deeper breaths and feeling tears in his eyes, trying not to _think_ as the creature bubbled under his skin. This man was bad and cruel. Why were they here with him? What was Mister Graves thinking? He could feel the creature slither, wanting to get out. He could see black smoke obscuring his vision -

“Credence!” Mister Graves yelled as he got up. The older man maintained a determined expression as he stood straight, walked over and picked up his wand. He looked at Credence in the eye and said, his voice calm and almost gentle again, “You can control it. Breathe, Credence.”

Credence nodded slowly, listening to the older man’s voice. He breathed… And focused. He raised his wand and pointed to Mister Graves’ hand. “ _Expelliarmus._ ”

The wand shot out of Mister Graves’ hand, stunning them all.

An unwelcome clap to his shoulder from Grindelwald, followed by a praise and a thin smile. “Excellent, Credence.”

The young man exhaled in relief as the pale-haired wizard walked past them both to pick up the thrown wand. He returned it to Mister Graves, but leaned in to say something. Unsure if the man meant for it to be heard, Credence managed to hear: “The next time, it will be wise for you to let the Obscurus take over.”

The tension dropped as Grindelwald moved away from them dismissively. “That’ll be it for now, Credence. I expect you and Percival to go over a few more offensive spells. We’ll be making our move in a few days.”

The dark wizard Disapparated, leaving the two of them alone in the ruined room.

Credence was the first to speak up, daring to go by the older man’s side. “Are you alright, Mister Graves?” He was surprised when the man reached over and slid a hand over the back of his neck. It had become calming and grounding for Credence, but he was even more surprised by the same effect it had on the other man.

“I’m fine, Credence. You did well today,” the man replied with a weak smile. His hand moved from his neck to cup his jaw, his eyes softening just a little. Credence stared, dazed by the expression before hurriedly casting his gaze downwards.

“We should stay away from him, sir,” Credence suggested, his voice a careful whisper, knowing he was overstepping his boundaries. He knew the man didn’t like to talk about Grindelwald, and especially with today’s lessons and the man’s disregard for his subordinate’s well being, it was a sensitive topic. Credence just wanted to be heard, hoping for answers. He didn’t feel any immediate reaction from Mister Graves, but eventually the man drew his hand away.

Credence dared to look up and felt his heart break at the fragile expression on his former hero’s face.

“We can’t, Credence,” Mister Graves responded, sounding emotionless as he stared distantly at nothing. “It’s too late.”

\----

\--+--

\----

Bonus image:


	4. Empat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence gets pulled into something. People die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that this and probably next chapter or two will be pretty heavy and icky with morality issues, I think. A lot of things happen in a short time in this one.

Credence wasn't ready. And so was Percival. 

Grindelwald and the followers he'd gathered in America were about to execute another series of attacks. The man was ready to reveal his presence on American soil. So far, Percival hadn't heard of any news from informants that told him that MACUSA were even aware. They might have hints but had no concrete idea. He wondered if the current empty seat of the Magical Security Director had anything to do with it.

Seraphina had always been quick to silence any rumours of dark magic, too afraid and concerned about exposure than the real problems. She was insistent about Grindelwald remaining in Europe, as if she was too afraid to admit she could have overlooked his arrival in the country, and having been in her service for so long, Percival knew how stubborn she could be. He'd always hated that about her. Without a proper leader, the Congress was crippled and lost. Percival knew Grindelwald would be able to bring them down at this rate, even without the Obscurial. 

He felt Credence's side pressed against him. When he’d first given Credence a quick rundown of what they were about to do, he was clearly upset. Percival had kept the possibility of people’s deaths from him, but he knew Credence would have suspected. But he did not argue or say a word, and followed Percival to their meeting place. The boy was nervous, but his expression showed no sign of it. The boy had grown strong. 

Grindelwald briefed them: An explosion at one of the no-maj celebration gathering along the National Bank - a minor one for distraction, and another, the main event, at the famed MACUSA headquarters. He had a handful of his group Disapparate off for their mission, some to infiltrate the Woolworth Building and be on the ready, and the rest to surround the building. 

They already had moles in MACUSA so that would be child's play; Percival wasn't the only one, and neither was he the first nor last. That, Percival had learned under Grindelwald’s care, and he was loathed to admit even he hadn’t realized, and it just made him felt extremely incompetent.

Percival was assigned as back-up, which he was grateful for, and Credence - Grindelwald turned to the young man, hard eyes rooting him to the ground, but it softened along with a smile Percival recognized that he would use when something held his interest. “You'll protect us, my boy. When it looks like we have no choice but to run, we can count on you.” 

Percival had no idea what the man meant by that, but he heard Credence gasp and make a sound in affirmation. The boy liked having a role, something to do, and he especially liked being needed. He wondered if Credence knew the real weight of his role that had been handed to him. Percival exhaled shakily and steeled himself. No turning back now.

Grindelwald and the other wizards Disapparated to their posts while Percival and Credence remained. Time seemed to slow as the silence that followed became overwhelming. Their anticipation for the events to trigger had them holding their breaths. The no-maj were oblivious; Percival could still hear their joyous cheer.

And then - explosions.

Screams and cries of terror. Percival knew nothing of what they were celebrating, but it was unfortunate for them it had to be cut short. Credence whimpered beside him, clearly affected by the noise, but made no move. Percival reached out to hold Credence by the wrist. He didn’t know if it was to assure himself or Credence. He tightened his grip when he felt Credence’s fingers brushed against his.

Amidst the screams, Percival could hear shouts of spells - counter curses, protective charms, and a few Unforgivables - followed by beams of light that lit up the sky. Chaos erupted and white noise flooded their senses. Grindelwald’s followers had it covered here.

Time to move.

Percival tugged Credence along and they Apparated to the foot of the Woolworth Building but made sure to keep out of sight. It was already mayhem by the time they got there. More explosions, blasts of offensive magic, and Grindelwald’s followers duelling against Aurors. No-maj authorities were mixed up in the scene but were easily thrown out of the fray. Percival could see the number of no-maj casualties were already high. He heard Credence whimper behind him upon seeing the aftermath, but paid it no mind.

The former Director scanned the area. Their plan had succeeded easily enough, as he’d expected, though a sense of disappointment lingered over him at how easily they had fallen. But Grindelwald wanted to make a bigger statement. The Madam President might be his target, but that was out of Percival’s hands now. It was regrettable, and distantly Percival felt remorse about his former friend. Seraphina was flawed as a President but she put her heart into her role and work for her people. She had displayed her greatest misjudgement to Percival by her order to put the Obscurial down, completely overlooking the situation, the injustice done to the boy, and had shoved him as just another case of risk of exposure. It had to be done. 

Percival wasn’t needed here. They’ve left their mark and Percival wasn’t supposed to do anything else other than support, and he didn’t want Credence to be exposed to anymore of this, especially with him looking so wild-eyed and anxious. The debris and bodies that scattered around them were not helping.

“Come on, Credence, we gotta go -”

“Credence?!” 

Shit, was that Tina? How the heck did she out of everyone else manage to spot them? As her former mentor he was proud of her vigilance, but this was much too unfavourable for them. Percival didn’t want to hurt his protege or any more of his former acquaintances than needed, but he wouldn’t hesitate if they got in his way. The girl’s stubbornness will lead to her undoing.

Before he could grab Credence to Disapparate, he was knocked off his feet several meters away with a spell. The familiar shape of Tina Goldstein threw herself at Credence who gaped at him in shock. Like a worried mother, she embraced him and looked him over, concern in her eyes, her hands brushing back Credence’s unruly hair as she took a good look at him.

“Credence Barebone! Mercy Lewis, I can’t believe - I thought you were dead - how?” Tina asked, rambling in her questions. Credence didn’t respond, but Percival caught the look of - relief, concern, joy?  _ Love _ ? - upon seeing her. An unfamiliar emotion possessed him. Tina finally noticed and realized who she’d attacked, immediately pushing Credence behind her, as if protecting the boy from him. Percival did not expect how bothered he felt by that. “You!”

Without hesitation Percival whipped out his wand and shot blue lightning at her the same time she cast her counterspell, holding their wands in a deadlock, a deja vu of their duel before. Percival used wandless magic to slam nearby debris at her, but the woman managed to dodge. 

Tina shot more spells at him but Percival parried them easily, the difference in their strength and skill evident. “Why are you doing this, Graves? What do you gain from dragging an Obscurial into all this?! At least leave Credence out of it!” Tina tried to reason. 

“We need the boy, Tina. Can't you see what good he can do for us with that kind of power?!” Percival flicked his wand as more spells were cast. Tina was holding decently on her own, despite it was clear she was struggling. 

“He's just a boy!” Tina cried fiercely,  firing a powerful jinx, but that too was easily smacked away. “How could you follow that mad man? We all trusted you, you were my mentor!”

“You wouldn't understand, Tina. The things I've seen. The things we do to keep hiding, and suffer while the no-maj get away with everything scot-free. I told you,  _ I won't bow down any longer _ ,” Percival sneered. He was relentless, driven by that ugly emotion before, chasing after her and pushing her back away from Credence. Whether he meant it or not, he'd shoved the boy out of the ways he continued to throw more lightning in her direction, vicious and incessant. 

“No!” Credence screamed and finally broke his stunned silence, his yell followed by a burst of energy that interrupted Percival’s casting. Credence was enveloped in the Obscurus mist, his eyes glowing white. Percival immediately kept his distance, staring at the dark mass warily. He could feel the Obscurus’ eyes on him, and he felt like prey.

“Credence…” Percival attempted, raising his hands and lowering himself. Tina had gotten up, still catching her breath.

“Stop, Credence! Don’t do this!” he heard the Auror say. Percival wanted to shut her up, wanted to show he had this under control, that Credence had grown strong enough under his care to keep the Obscurus under wraps. But Credence was under intense stress. He didn’t take kindly to the pandemonium around, and Percival had forgotten himself that the boy was averse to such violence, especially from him.

This was bad, though. The wizards around them, both Auror and Grindelwald follower alike, had stopped in their tracks even despite their duelling, all focus on the display of the ever growing black-red fog from the unassuming young man. If that man were to see Credence like this -

Tina was suddenly hurled back by an invisible magic force, hitting her head as she fell. Credence cried out, the Obscurus flaring dangerously as Grindelwald appeared behind him, apparently the culprit. The dark fog flailed violently, its magic whipping away everything within its vicinity. Percival had to hold up a protective charm, but it did little under the Obscurus’ might. 

“Good job, Percival. Isn’t he just glorious? That's it, Credence, show them your might,” Grindelwald said, his words like fuel to the fire.

Credence was still holding on to his control, just barely maintaining his human shape. Percival could see he was clinging to every piece of himself, even as the creature wailed and thrashed, needing to lash out but it remained where it was, as if Credence had it pinned to his spot. He was in pain; Percival could see the agony in his face and Grindelwald’s words and presence was making it worse. Percival panicked and attempted to approach him, but was obstructed by the fog-like beast smashing the concrete in his path. 

“Marvelous,” Percival heard Grindelwald say, his eyes staring up at the dark magic, enthralled. “You have all this power, Credence, use it!”

“No,” Percival heard the boy grit out, as he scrambled to his feet. Credence wasn't ready. His boy would lose himself completely if he were to shatter like this, he needed to get Grindelwald away from him, and he didn’t even think, he just pointed his wand at Grindelwald -

“Unfortunate,” was the word Grindelwald spoke, his face twisted into a sneer before he turned to Percival, his wand in hand. Percival did not manage to strike him in time, instead, he felt his blood turn cold at the spell Grindelwald used. “ _ Crucio.” _

Red light. A flash of excruciating pain. 

_ For the Greater Good. _

Percival screamed as he fell back to the floor as indescribable agony consumed every cell in his body. All he could hear was Credence’s screams and the yells of the wizards surrounding them. The Aurors must be trying to fight Grindelwald, but the man could take down a small army by himself. He could hear the noise garbled as pain smothered his senses, but his focus was on Credence, who was crying out desperately, voice distorted with pieces of himself shredding. 

_ Credence is going to break _ , Percival thought helplessly, even through clenched teeth to keep himself from screaming. 

Another Cruciatus curse fell upon him.

Memories flooded his mind, as if his life was flashing before his eyes. He remembered the cellar he was held in. The duel before that, and the pride he had worn as he took Grindelwald head on. He had thought he was strong enough. He had the achievements, the skills and the bloodline to prove it. If anyone could defeat the greatest dark wizard of the era, Percival thought it could be him. But he was so, so wrong. Another mistake.

Grindelwald broke him. 

_ Crucio.  _

_ For the Greater Good.  _

_ We will be honoured. _

_ We’ll all be free. _

Were they empty promises, or his deepest desires? Percival did not know. There was so much pain.

Despite his vision blurred from torture, Percival watched in a daze as Credence broke apart, his body shattered into the fog-like beast that was the Obscurus. The creature howled as it burst forth and spread to the sky before it gathered and smashed into the nearby buildings, sweeping wildly within the area. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” Percival heard Grindelwald say, the reverence clear in his voice. It made Percival’s stomach churn. He could make out Credence’s voice among the creature’s screams. Percival had thought the same thing before: the parasitic magical creature in Credence was something to be exalted.  _ A miracle,  _ Percival had called him. So powerful, a wonder of the world. It was a force that could be used to change their world and make the no-maj bow down to them.

The pain in his young man’s cries had marred that beauty now, ripping the illusion of its allure into pieces. 

The Obscurus wailed, its demonic shrieks echoing through the city as it ravaged through the streets, unstoppable. Grindelwald had went after it, wanting to watch or to attempt to control the creature, Percival didn’t know, but he had to get to Credence. If the boy was still in there. He struggled to catch his breath, the Unforgivable curse having left him with crippling pain right down to his bones. The other wizards had cleared out after the Obscurus went berserk, and Percival noticed that Tina was gone as well; another Auror must have taken her away. Whether she lived or died, Percival couldn’t worry about it now. 

He got to his feet, panting hard for breath as he summoned his remaining strength for another Apparition, following the Obscurial’s trail.

 

\--+--

 

He existed, and at the same time he didn’t. There was everything, and then there was nothing.

His consciousness faded in and out. Human screams, and crumbling brick walls. Crushed metal and shattered glass. All sorts of noises filled his senses, overwhelming and suffocating him. 

Credence could only listen and feel. But all he felt was torment. His body felt like it had been torn to shreds, along with his mind. His thoughts were in disarray, focusing on everything and nothing, clinging on to one memory and then to another, but not registering what it was he had held onto.

That kind witch - Miss Goldstein, was it? She’d mentioned her name to him before but Credence must have forgotten. But he could never forget her. He’d dreamt of her - kind eyes, concerned words with a gentle voice and a welcoming smile. They’d soothed the burning sensation on his broken skin and her magic left him lighter. She was his first hero; he had been disappointed when he didn’t see her again and the guilt that followed when he imagined her being in trouble for helping him. Mister Graves had taken her place then, but he had been glad to see the witch again, unable to help his outward emotion of relief as she fussed over him like a real mother would.

Then she saw Mister Graves and had pushed him back, as if to protect him. She had drawn her wand, but blue lightning pierced through the air between them before she could react.

The witch had demanded answers, and Credence did not know about their relationship before. Did not know that Mister Graves was her teacher. Credence only felt resignation upon hearing the man's response. He was needed only as a tool for a malicious plan Credence had no idea he was a part of. 

Mister Graves had thrown spell after spell at her. His expression was twisted into something ugly and vicious, just like the time in the subway tunnel. Credence was afraid of him again. The spell did not strike him, but he felt the pain all the same, as he watched it hit the kind witch who’d protected him many times before.

The man had promised he wouldn’t hurt him again. He hadn't raised his hand at him directly, but he was hurting her, someone he’d cared for. He didn’t understand the man’s actions, the hate and aggression clear on his face which he’d directed at her. The creature screamed, deafening as it pounded against his ribs, demanding to be let out, to punish the older man for his lies yet again. 

But Credence wouldn’t let it. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He had to control it, he’d promised him -

Miss Goldstein was suddenly thrown back by another magical force. At the sound of the loud thud as she hit the floor, Credence felt another piece of himself crumble. Grindelwald appearing from behind him made the Obscurus screech in bloodrage. 

Credence didn’t want to let the creature loose, no matter what the dark wizard said.  _ He wouldn’t. _

Grindelwald cast some strange spell that left Mister Graves screaming, his body bent in odd ways and shuddering from agony. Each scream that escaped the man left Credence crying, feeling every pain as if it were his own. He had to do something, protect Miss Goldstein, the kind witch. He didn't want to be part of all these attacks, with the bodies of wizards and civilians laid around them. He had to protect Mister Graves -

The Obscurus roared as it ate into his mind.

Anger, fear, guilt, helplessness, confusion. Everything was mind-numbing pain as it flooded him. Tendrils of black smoke materialized from him, unfurling and encasing his body as his body began to break apart. Credence couldn’t stop the Obscurus as he’d watched Mister Graves writhe under Grindelwald’s torment. All he wanted was to stop it all, stop Grindelwald who’d been causing all the hurt.

He barely heard Mister Graves calling out to him before he lost all awareness. 

He existed, and at the same time he didn’t. There was nothing, and then everything flooded him.

He felt the pull of the creature dragging his consciousness around the near fallen city that had barely recovered from their wrath once before. Voracious and insatiable, taking, ripping, and crushing everything in its path as if to show their hatred for the world. Bright lights pelted at him from various directions just like before, but Credence had grown stronger; they won’t hurt him again.

There was no focus in the Obscurus’ movements. Their rage lashed out at everything, humans, inanimate objects or buildings alike.

“Beautiful,” Grindelwald had Apparated before him, arms raised as if in prayer, wide eyes staring in awe at his formless mass. Credence was one with the dark creature, white shining eyes fixed on the lone wizard that dared to stand in their path. Their fury burned their core red, glowing in the face of the dark wizard. “Think of what you can do, Credence! What we can do together!”

_ Together _ . 

Mister Graves had said that to them once. Grandeur promises of honour and freedom, leaving the pain behind.

But this man was not Mister Graves. Grindelwald’s pale visage only brought bad memories, cold discipline, hurt upon others and fury in them, and at that point they felt their urge to -  _ hurt, maim, kill _ \- rise. This was the man that had harmed them, harmed those they’d cared for. An unforgivable.

The amorphous form of the Obscurus swirled and swelled into a growing tornado of dark magic, ready to smite the dark wizard where he stood.

A bright beam of magic shot through the air at Grindelwald, with Graves coming out of nowhere. Grindelwald managed to hold up a protective charm, sending the spell back to its caster. The Obscurus stalled its movements, perplexed and stunned by the sudden change in events.

“I thought you wanted change, Percy,” they heard Grindelwald sneer with disdain. “Didn’t think it was a change of heart.” The dark wizard made a downward slashing movement with his wand like one would with a sword, which seemed to inflict slashing damage upon its victim. Graves grimaced, but did not retreat despite the blood that seeped out, clear even through his dark waistcoat. He countered with another spell that pushed the man back in an aggressive flurry of wandwork. 

Graves and Grindelwald began to duel, wordless jinxes and curses hurled at one another. The battle was fierce, their overwhelming magic crackling the air around them, splitting the ground and erupting sparks in their surroundings. Any lesser wizard would have been easily cast out of their way.

The Obscurus hovered, snapping in different directions in its confusion. Credence watched as Graves assaulted his (former?) master with ferocious prowess. The dark beast wailed, its hunger still unappeased, still craving to mark the earth with its wrath.

“Credence! Please, come back!”

Another voice called to him. Familiar. Female. Kind. Miss Goldstein? 

The Obscurus whirled around, its beams for eyes scanning the ground and spotting the witch. She was injured, with blood running down the side of her head from where she'd been hit. A familiar red-haired man with freckles was with her: the wizard with the friendly voice. The creature’s movements slowed, its aggression just slightly tamed. They felt their body shrink, just a little, the red glow at their core diminishing ever slightly.

“Credence? We’re here for you,” the man said, cordial and gentle. He had a suitcase with him. Credence watched and listened, his focus on the duel behind him between the two wizards lost. “Remember me, Credence? I’m Newt Scamander. I told you I met a girl like you before.” Credence remembered. He was listening. He wanted to know more.

“We can help you, Credence,” Miss Goldstein said, her voice watery, eyes shining with tears. She was so tender-hearted, so concerned for him it made Credence’s heart ache. He felt the Obscurus retract into itself slowly, the blood lust dissipating. “That’s it, Credence, come back to us. You’re alright.”

Her soothing voice brought him back. Mister Newt’s gentle words and encouragement lulled the creature in him. Credence could breathe again. He felt his body reform and his physical feet planted to the ground, then his knees and his hands, and eventually all of him was sprawled on the road. 

“Credence!”

Mister Graves’ pained groan made him look away. The man was on the ground, bloodied and torn by Grindelwald’s feet. The pale-haired wizard still stood strong, looming over the former Auror. His sleek hair was out of place and he’d spotted bruises and cuts over his usually collected features; it was clear that other man had given him a good fight, but Grindelwald had his wand directed to Mister Graves’ head.

“This is all very frustrating,” the German wizard drawled, looking worse for wear and livid. He’d lost all pretense of patience, displaying his cruel streak with a foot on Graves’ chest. Graves groaned as the dark wizard pressed against it. “Credence, my boy. If you would come to me, your Mister Graves won’t get hurt any longer. We can fix all of this.”

Credence heard Miss Goldstein gasp. The red-haired wizard had set his suitcase down, looking nervously at the two figures. Graves was incapacitated, unable to move other than groan and struggle weakly, but he was desperately seeking Credence’s attention. His dark eyes stared at him with rare emotion - worry, guilt, remorse - wordlessly conveying something to him that Credence couldn’t understand.

“ _ Credence _ ,” Grindelwald summoned impatiently with a derisive hiss, putting more weight into the foot on Graves. The man gasped and groaned, and Credence thought he could hear something snap. He immediately got to his feet, moving to the dark wizard’s position, not wishing for the former Auror to be subjected to more agony.

“Credence, no!” the witch whispered, but the red-haired man held her back. Graves was still looking at him, shaking his head determinedly.  _ No, go back,  _ he seemed to say.

“I can’t leave you, Mister Graves,” Credence found himself speaking aloud, eyes fixed on the fallen man as he slowly walked towards Grindelwald. “You’ve done so much for me, even though I’m nothing. Nothing but a monster you needed to use.” 

“Not a monster, Credence. A miracle,” Grindelwald interrupted, smiling almost gently. Credence hated that look. It was never sincere, and it never fitted with his face. He hated that he used the same words Mister Graves did, vilifying them. The man held his hand out to him, ignorant of Credence's thoughts. A thorn in his side, the young man thought viciously, sounding unbecoming of him as the Obscurus hissed in his ear. 

“Let's work on changing the world together, my boy. Percival will be right with us,” the wizard continued callously, as if he wasn’t stepping on said man literally. 

Credence stopped in his tracks as he lowered his eyes to stare at Graves. The man remained where he was, clearly too injured to even struggle. Their gazes met but they spoke no words to each other even as Credence just stood in his spot. He was completely fixed on the man, as if the both of them were having a silent conversation. Eventually, something must have concluded, as Credence's tearful expression hardened into defiance. 

“No,” Credence snarled, finally turning to face Grindelwald. “Not with you.”

As if he sensed something, Grindelwald yelled out a curse and whipped up his wand to cast towards Credence, but he was too late. Without a wand and without an incantation, Credence projected an immense blast of magical force at the wizard, sending the dark wizard flying, a look of shock on his face.

Miss Goldstein took that chance and shot an Impediment curse at the man in mid-air; at the same time a colourful winged creature flew from Mister Newt’s hand as it spat something vile at Grindelwald, binding the man with a hardened substance as he fell to the floor immobilized.

Grindelwald was powerful; Credence knew the spell and the creature weren’t sufficient to hold him, so he pinned the man down with a pressurized force of his own magic. It was enough to leave the dark wizard wheezing, suffocating under Credence’s power.

And as if something had been lifted, Aurors Apparated into the area simultaneously, wands at the ready, pointed at Credence, Graves and Grindelwald. They were completely surrounded.

“Stop! Do not hurt the boy!” Miss Goldstein implored, but Credence doubted it would do any good. They all had been in this position before; it was almost laughable how eerily similar it was. Credence directed a grateful smile at her. “Credence… Step away from Graves. Come with us, this time we can help you, really. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Credence watched the nervous Aurors, and the ever kind smile on the other wizard - Newt. Was there really a chance? Miss Goldstein looked so hopeful, and Credence had yearned for a real mother’s touch, and her embrace was the closest he could get to that. The Aurors around them though, seem to have other ideas. Fear and apprehension were clear in their eyes. He had brought another wave of destruction, and he had been involved in this attack, with many innocents killed.

The Obscurial sighed, feeling exhausted. His body still thrummed with pain, and the Obscurus was still moving restlessly under his skin. He turned to Graves - his Mister Graves. The man was barely conscious now, with his body broken from battle, but his dark eyes were trained on him, unwavering. He wondered if Mister Graves still viewed him as just an Obscurial, but the look in the man’s eyes were different, somehow. 

Credence had little faith in God after he first died, when he was diminished into almost nothing by the Aurors the first time, but it felt that that moment was the right time to murmur a prayer.

“Credence,” Graves was calling to him, voice broken and hoarse. The Obscurial thought of the first time they had met, the first time the man uttered his name, low, soft and captivating. He thought of the comforting words Graves would say, remembered the lie and the feeling of being discarded, the pain and confusion after that. And in the end, reassembling from nothing and offered a second chance in return for something. At least, that wasn’t a lie.

The Aurors focused their magic despite Miss Goldstein’s desperate protests. The red haired wizard beside her was fidgeting nervously, but also attempting to convince the Aurors to lower their wands. Credence thought about the mentioned girl who was supposedly like Credence, host to a monstrous entity. What was her fate? Did she die? Did she get to learn magic and accept herself? Has she killed people like had and was able to forgive herself for it?

What little hope left he had in life had him wondering if there really was any chance of salvation for him.

But the Aurors had their orders and judgement for Credence has already been determined. Bright spells from the Aurors’ wands fired at them, encasing them in white and deafened them with silence.

Credence decided to let go, and blackness swallowed the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter have been pretty difficult to write. I think I'm quite weak at pacing, so do comment on how I've fared. All the kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	5. Lima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival had always been a righteous man. Then Grindelwald happened.

Percival had always been a righteous man. 

As a young boy, he enjoyed listening to stories of his ancestors and the following Graves bloodline who became Aurors and fought the dark wizards, much like heroes in fairy tales. 

He loved the feeling of importance, valiantly bearing the burden of being a protector and a part of a bigger story. He was born with skill and power, and with the Graves family name he was also given trust and expectations. Everyone knew he would be a skilled wizard so it was no surprise he became the Director of Magical Security, was close acquaintances with the Madam President, and held power within the Congress. He had everything. 

And Gellert Grindelwald had turned it all on its head.

Captured, humiliated, and tortured, Percival broke far easier than he ever thought he would. All his worldy materials and skills had him jaded and arrogant, and being the side of the law had given him authority to put others at their place where he saw fit. He was the judge, who had gone through much and he had prided himself to be strong and invincible, having met few that were his match. And yet Grindelwald had kicked him to the ground and showed how powerless he truly was. The shame of it had burned his soul to cinders as the dark wizard broke through his strongest defenses and stole all the information he could find within his mind. 

Percival was a man who took his job seriously. He may have been a romantic when he was younger, seeking glory and hero status, but as he grew up he'd learned the cruelty of life. He aced his classes in Ilvermorny and was popular. He was the head prefect and everyone wanted to be in his good books due to his skill, wealth and family name.  But that didn't mean he was well-liked.

As a member of the Graves family, the expectation everyone had for him were high and soul-crushing. He had to be the best, had to be skilled in fighting against the dark arts, to be the perfect example of someone who was expected to be the Top Auror once he graduated. Percival learned not to mind his linear fate; his childish hero dreams only deepened his drive and shaped his view of the world.

He was often described as intense, narrow-minded and focused. Some would call him judgemental, arrogant, and others saw him without patience for anything that did not interest him. He did not have many friends, often cold and kept things professional with teachers, classmates, and colleagues. He did not like showing any weakness of himself which he believed to have few of, and to everyone else’s knowledge he was the same with his family. 

Once he became an Auror, his shrewdness and standoffish personality only intensified. It helped in his work: able to make quick judgements, take out any sign of danger and followed the rules to a tee. He had seen the many horrors of the magical world, cruelty of human beings with one another, and had made decisions that would make any seasoned veteran cry. But such sights only strengthened his resolve; he’d grown to have a bit of a hero complex, feeling the need to save and protect.

As the right hand of the President, Percival was exemplary. It merely cost him his social life. He had the complete respect and loyalty of his colleagues and subordinates, but he had little time for friends, if he had any, having seen little need for it.

His job did not allow such luxuries anyway, and Percival was adamant in keeping his work and skill impeccable. Honour and glory was as much of a priority to him as justice and righteousness. He had appearances to keep up, laws to uphold. However, the world he knew as a child, with the fairy tales and flowery stories were just fantasies, and Percival had grown very familiar with life as an Auror. Life was unjust, and what Percival hated most was the lack of fairness when it came to cases involving wizards and no-majs. The favour would always tip the scale over to the non-magical, despite the foolish things they did that would involve all of them. The Great War was one of them.

 

\--+--

 

He awoke to the familiar ceiling of his bunker. 

No, something was off. There was a black, swirling cloud creeping along the walls and corners. Percival dared not to move, feeling his instincts warning him of the threat. Had Credence succumbed to the Obscurus? What happened to Grindelwald, Tina and the other Aurors? How did he manage to return to the hideout?

Percival realized he was still rather immobile. His entire body ached, but the pain was not as sharp as before. It had dulled, like the damage had been healed but not done properly. He craned his neck to look around, spotting open books and containers of salves and potions by the bed he laid on.

But there was no sign of Credence or the red eye of the Obscurus. The black shroud surrounding him looked more like a barrier or something of the like, but it did little to lessen his anxiety. For all he knew, he was trapped  within the bowels of a slumbering creature.

“Credence…?” Percival called, realizing how small he sounded before the Obscurial fog.

A figure slowly manifested from the cloud, stepping into Percival’s line of sight. “You’re awake,” Credence said, sounding oddly distant. The boy looked immaculate, as if nothing of the events before had transpired, but he looked fatigued. It was still better than Percival would have expected.

“How long has it been?” the man asked, finally daring to sit up, though his eyes remained wary of the Obscurus around them. Credence sat down by the bed, and much to Percival’s surprise, leaned in to rest his head against his shoulder. 

“Three days,” was the boy’s answer, as he sagged against him. “I was worried. I tried to heal you the best I could, but I’m still no good at it.” A silent apology followed it, but Percival said nothing. He realized the open books were on Healing magic and some no-maj first aid texts he had gotten for emergencies. He didn’t stock up much on the potions, so it appeared that his entire potions inventory had been used up. The boy must have used a large amount of stamina to execute the spells on top of it, and he’d noticed some gauze and bandages. He looked like he lacked sleep too; had he been on the lookout as well? It would explain Credence’s exhaustion.

“The uh, the smoke?” Percival gestured to the black covered walls.

“They won’t find us here,” Credence finally moved away and looked at him, his face showed a confident expression, none of the worried, unsure boy Percival knew him as.

“You brought us here? What about -”

“I took us away. I had no choice. I didn’t want to die again.”

Percival stared at him, brows furrowed and feeling - something. The flat,  unequivocal response unnerved him. “I’m - sorry. Credence.”

“You should be,” was Credence’s reply. It was curt and icy enough to make the former Auror wince. He hadn’t heard such a tone from the boy before.

“Why didn’t you leave me there?” Percival asked after a beat. If the boy hated him, he would have thought the boy would leave him there to die or to be arrested. Unless, he just regretted it now, and was waiting to feed him to his Obscurus.

Credence did not answer. He ducked his head and tilted it in that manner Percival recognised as uncertainty. A minute passed, and the boy still did not say a word. Percival let the manner drop. He was still aching and weakened. His thoughts strayed to Grindelwald instead. 

“I’ll get dinner ready,” Percival heard the boy say, as he promptly stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. It reminded him of their life before they met up with Grindelwald. How domestic it was. Every day, it was teaching Credence magic, practice, make dinner, and repeat it again the next day. He was reminded of Credence’s bright smile and quiet laughter as he used his magic for the first time.

It had been… nice. Something Percival had not felt in a very long time.

They had a quiet dinner by Percival’s bed.

 

\--+--

 

He despised the Statute of Secrecy. Percival understood the need for it, but that did not mean he had to like it. Growing up with the law in place, he'd been exposed to the intense upholding of the Statute. He'd seen the consequences of wizards and witches who'd broken the law, mostly out of carelessness or reckless desperation. The frantic way they  segregated themselves from the no-majs to keep themselves safe. He’d read on the history of the law, with the inhumane witch hunts that could have wiped them all out, so he understood their fear.  He’d seen how irrational people could be when terrified. While Percival himself had a low opinion of the no-maj, he wasn’t hostile to them.  He merely thought that going to such great lengths were ridiculous. But no matter the scale of it, the justice brought upon them were swift and heavy, with little care for their side of the story. The state of the no-maj came first.

It became the reason why tensions were constantly so high, so afraid to be revealed to the no-maj and their trigger happy nature that risked another war into breaking out. He abhorred the feeling of helplessness and weakness and the inability to fight back despite the wrong-doings of the other side. He became an Auror to change things, even became the Director, but the rules held him down so strongly Percival felt restrained to even introduce change. And for wizards to actively support such an unprogressive law only burned the coals of spite in Percival’s chest, and frustrated him to no end whenever the Statute got in the way of his work.

Of course, he kept such thoughts to himself. Voicing out such opinions was treason, and even his name wouldn’t be enough to clear him. Percival only worked harder to clean up the mess, always scrambling to cover up the tracks, watching as Obliviator teams were constantly sent out every other day. He’d watched wars among wizards and no-majs alike, and The Great War, unbeknownst to the no-maj, had used the lives of countless wizards as well.  Only, they were never to be known about and honoured. Any involved no-maj were Obliviated, no exceptions, as stressed by every living politician, and then allowed to continue with their lives carefree, while they suffered from the consequences. 

Ignorance was truly bliss.

Percival was not an extremist. He was not Grindelwald. While Percival might hate the injustice towards his people by the laws they've enforced supposedly to protect them, he didn’t agree to attacks on the innocent. He’d been sent by the Madam President herself to track the dark wizard all the way to Europe and Percival was eager to bring the man to justice. Seraphina had complete trust in him, put him on the pedestal like all the others did, and overestimated his abilities. Granted, Percival was talented, but apparently not as much as Grindelwald.

The humiliation he felt when he lost his team within moments upon tracking Grindelwald shattered him. All those lives trusted in his hands gone without him able to do a single thing. The dark wizard deliberately kept him alive, knowing the importance of his status. He’d held him, stripped him of his pride and tortured him mentally and physically. Then he’d fed him words of persuasion and ideas and ideals, working and worming his way into Percival’s deepest thoughts.

The man was charismatic, that Percival knew. His followers clearly idolized and admired Gellert Grindelwald, and his skill and cunning was unmatched. This was when the man was patient. Nice words, soft touches that bordered on seduction, and promises of grandeur. His speeches were dramatic but alluring at the same time, convincing and capable of swaying even an inkling of Percival to his side. The man had a way with words, and in Percival’s exhausted state, he’d latched on to every one of them.

Percival did not admit to anyone but himself that he was afraid. He was terrified of Grindelwald, the man who held his life and mind in his hands. And Grindelwald knew. He revelled in Percival’s fear. His pride was skewered and shattered, and he did not want to die in a pathetic state he was in, but at the same time he did not wish to return with the shame and loss of his subordinates and bring news of failure to Seraphina.

In the short weeks Grindelwald had him, the man used numerous spells to twist his thoughts. Constant casting of Unforgivables, burning agonizing pain into him with the red ominous light of the Cruciatus curse, and the yellow-green of the Imperius spell to control his mind and movement always left him heaving. He’d soon lost hold of his sanity, unable to tell which were thoughts and memories were Grindelwald’s inventions and which were his own. 

The dark wizard exploited all of Percival’s weaknesses - his frustration at the law that failed his sense of righteousness, the anger at the inability to bring the wrong to justice, the wizardkind victims he’d seen killed by the no-maj out of senseless hysteria, fear and violence; his insecurities and desperations to be the hero he was constantly pressured to be. Grindelwald took his mind apart and made sure to use every part of it.

All the while, the man made sure to have Percival repeat the noble words used as a motto for his actions.

“For the Greater Good,” Percival had murmured, over and over like a mantra much to the other wizard’s satisfaction. Percival had admitted defeat, in mind and body and soul. In what was left of his mind, the dark wizard was capable to do as he’d promised: bring freedom, subjugation of the no-maj, returning the glory of wizardkind. Percival had been twisted to believe in him.

Gellert Grindelwald had proved his dominance over Percival Graves, who had so foolishly thought he was invincible. The Director of Magical Security was a sight to behold: dishonoured, defeated and left chained and starved like an abandoned dog.

 

\--+--

 

Credence noticed that Graves was restless. He tossed and turned and he fidgeted as he sat up, and his body seemed to want to just roll off the furniture, despite his legs still out of commission. Credence had tried to heal them, but he wasn’t good at it. Graves himself had little energy to attempt any proper spells.

They did not speak about what happened a few days ago, or about Grindelwald. Perhaps it wasn’t time yet. Maybe there never will be a time for it. Credence just wanted to forget all about it. He’d thought about what Graves had said about putting the past behind, but the man himself appeared to be reliving his own bad memories. Credence understood, and knew not to pry.

A few more days went by, and Credence pulled the Obscurus back into himself. The feeling always made him squirm, but it had become less pronounced with each time he used it. The creature did not fight against his will anymore, for whatever reason, but it would always hiss unintelligible words  in his ear, as if a reminder. That was more than enough for Credence. He had first used the Obscurus to Apparate them away from the city, easily breaking through whatever ward the Aurors had put up to cage them in. Then he’d used the dark magic to block out any trace of them, making them completely invisible from everyone or anyone attempting to find them, magical or not. The power needed to keep it up constantly had kept him lethargic, and healing Graves at least once a day to improve his condition had drained more of him. Credence didn’t mind it as he’d gone through much worse than just feeling weakened. There was little pain, just a hollow sensation that made him drowsy and unfocused.

Credence did not notice the look Graves had on him.

“You’ve learned to control it?” Graves asked, startling him.

“What-? ...Oh. No. I don’t know,” Credence replied tiredly, dismissing it by bowing his head, more out of habit than anything. The look Graves was making him uneasy too; he couldn’t tell what it meant. 

“Credence,” Graves called with a beckoning gesture. The boy hesitantly moved in closer, but as if pulled by the man’s words, unsure what the man had in store for him. “You’re in control.”

The boy scoffed - and quickly covered it with a cough when he realized how rude he sounded. “The creature inside still has its own will. I think it’s just as tired as I am to bother going berserk,” Credence added, brushing it off. It was a lame excuse, and he knew Graves wouldn’t buy a single word he said. But Credence didn’t want to think what would happen if Graves thought that Credence had full control. He didn’t want to be used.

_ No _ , he suddenly thought to himself.  _ I won’t let him use me.  _ He clenched his fist. He  _ will _ refuse to be used. Credence had power now. He can protect himself.

“Credence,” Graves called again, but it was more of a quiet murmur this time. Credence felt a hand on his shoulder, then it slid along to his neck and pulled Credence close, closer and more intimate than they had ever been. The boy gasped, eyes wide as Graves rested their foreheads together, dark eyes staring into his. “You saved me, Apparated us away, conjured your Obscurus as a barrier, and used your magic to heal me - all while wandless and wordless, if I have to remind you - and you say you’re not in control?”

Credence stared at him, stunned momentarily. “I am not a tool to be manipulated,” Credence told him, his voice watery but Credence felt that he had never said something more resolute than that. He blinked his wet eyes as he braced for the man’s response. He expected to be yelled at, to be pushed away and be reminded his place. He even expected Graves to slap him angrily as he did once before. Credence did not expect the grin that spread on the man’s face.

“No, no you’re not, Credence,” Graves said, his voice low with something Credence couldn’t recognise. Both his hands were on Credence, suddenly wrapping him in around his shoulders, warm and so ridiculously familiar Credence dared not to breathe lest he broke down. “You’re a wonder, my boy. You did it.”

 

\--+--

 

They had to change the system. They had to make it known that the oppressed would not stay silent forever. Percival had agreed. He hated the heavy darkness of the shadows, and wanted to serve gloriously in the light, like the heroes described in fantasy tales passed down from generation to generation.

When Percival was sent back with a mission guided by Grindelwald’s vision about a powerful child, alone, body battered, mind broken and without the company of his team, Percival realized that he was nothing close to those heroes.

Upon his return, everything Percival knew in his life felt like a lie. All he had been born to and had built up by himself felt worthless. The looks of pity, the congratulatory wishes for returning while his subordinates were dead, their insincere sympathies, Seraphina’s apologetic looks and the people treating him like glass only made it worse. He had been shown how helpless he was, and how fragile their peace could be. Grindelwald had revealed it all to him. 

Percival was in pieces and in the months that followed in recuperating, he still hadn’t been able to put himself back together again. The healers fixed his body, but did not even bother with his mind. He threw himself in his work the moment he was allowed back under his fierce insistence, almost obsessively to put any thoughts of his captivity and shame away, while he scoured for any clues on the Obscurus. His actions no longer felt like his own, and his mind was clouded. Nobody said anything about the change in his behaviour, whether there really was one, or if they even noticed.

And then there was the Barebone family.

Heralded by a prim, wretched woman who had talent as a doomsayer and regularly held public talks which gave out prints of their word, spreading hysteria and fear and hate. While often met with scoffs and skepticism, Percival felt like they were a sign of where their future was heading, of what Grindelwald meant.

Tina was the one who brought his attention to them. And, bless her kind heart, upon seeing the lone son of the Barebone family abused, she could not hold back. Tina was a good Auror with her heart at the right place, daring to stretch or bend the rules just to do the right thing. Kind and earnest, but had a sharp eye for all things awry, Percival had high hopes for her. He couldn’t help her from being demoted though, no matter how much Percival agreed with her actions.

It was the Barebone boy who took his notice then. Something in the boy’s look and presence, had attracted him. When he’d approached the boy for questioning, he did not expect to feel the weak spark of magic, with something dark laced in it. A squib, but someone magical. That only incensed Percival’s drive to topple the system and bring him away from the cruelties of the no-maj. But he had to use him first.

He had not thought much of squibs - they were indeed unteachable in magic, barely above a no-maj, but they shared something in common at least. Percival sympathized with the boy, and sometimes, as much as he did not enjoy admitting it, he thought he could see the same haunted look on the boy’s face as he the one he saw in his mirror. Later he realized, that the soothing words he conveyed to the boy as he healed his wounds of abuse sounded like Percival was consoling himself.

Percival treated the boy like how they treated him, but not cruel enough to treat him too fragile like glass that could shatter any moment. He thought he’d leave the boy some dignity. He had noticed the other’s touch-starved notions, the quiet whimpers and near-sobs from a simple praise. It disgusted Percival at first, how someone could be so deprived to that state. He hated that the boy wore his weaknesses so openly. 

But then he saw a glimpse of strength in there, when the boy’s eyes shone with awe and desire when Percival spoke of honour and freedom. While the boy had a weak spark of magic, the real fire was in his eyes. Those looks were rare and frustratingly difficult to reach out to, but just a glimpse of it had ignited something in him he thought had been lost.

 

\--+--

 

Credence had not answered Graves’ question about his reason for saving him. He himself didn’t know how to answer it. He had just done it on a whim, a split-second decision he made just before the Aurors shot their spells at him. He could have left the man there, let him pay for his crimes, for being accomplices with a mad man whom Credence didn’t realize would spread his evil with showers of hellfire. He did not expect to be involved in all that when he already had a Devil in him. Grindelwald, as it turned out, was a Devil himself.

Credence hadn’t known Graves’ plans had led to this. But the man had not mentioned or promised anything, other than honour and liberation. He only had himself to blame for his naivete and failing to resist temptation. People were dead, and Credence didn’t know if he was responsible for any of them. The Obscurus took what it wanted, and maybe, Credence, being the coward he was, had let it take all the memories of the deaths he’d caused too.

The Obscurial wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious at the man he’d trusted yet again. He felt betrayed, once more, but the stab of it wasn’t as sharp this time. It was more of his misleading than his actions. The guilt he placed on himself was there still, murmuring nasty accusations in the Obscurus’ dark whisper. He was the foolish one: he went with the man, he willingly learned magic and met with Grindelwald. He could have done many things to have stopped it. He could have left when he felt things were going wrong, when Graves wasn’t acting himself, unable to sleep because of haunting dreams. It was as much as his fault as it was Graves’. 

But he had enough of it all. Tired of blaming and running away. He had accepted his fate as an Obscurial, and the magic he possessed. It was enough that Graves taught him. It was more than enough that he got to see Miss Goldstein and Mister Newt again. Credence had even used his power for something good this time, and had cast Grindelwald away from them, and hopefully, Miss Goldstein and those Aurors would keep the extremist off the streets and stop him from doing any more harm. And after all that, Credence had managed to escape with his life. All was fine.

Right?

Credence snuck a glance at Graves, who was sitting at the side of his bed. His legs had gotten better, but he’d yet to stand or walk around. His other wounds had already healed over, and maybe by tomorrow, the man would be fully healed.

_ Why didn’t you leave me there? _

The truth was, Credence was scared to be alone. Graves had become the anchor in his life, with the underground bunker like his new home, filled with books for Credence to learn from, with the warm bed and the hot cocoa the man often poured for him. Despite it all, he still craved the man’s warm hands on him, the stern, lightly chiding voice that could sound soft and fond and homely that even Miss Goldstein’s gentle and genuine concern for him could not compare. He’d allowed himself indulgence and he hadn’t realized he’d trapped himself in it.

He didn’t want to be left with nothing again. He didn’t think he would be strong enough to survive such a thing anymore.

 

\--+--

 

Credence had given Percival something, without realizing it himself. He’d baited the boy with assurances of knowledge and liberation and a life free from cruelty. The boy responded to his requests with eagerness to please, fearful of disappointing.

Each time Percival visited him and showed him just a bit of magic, the boy looked at him with child-like fascination. The open awe on his face breathed life in Percival who had been dead and empty since his return from Europe. 

Percival had thought his actions back then were just a means to get something out of Credence. He had needed the boy to help him with something, so he had exploited what the boy laid out so openly. A skill he’d learned from Grindelwald.

Credence’s little spark of magic was nothing to the glimmer of joy in his eyes. The boy never blatantly expressed such raw emotion, but when it came to curiosity, Credence hadn’t held back. His desire to see more, to learn more had kept Percival visiting, even if it was under the guise of finding out if the prophesied child of power had been found. It didn’t take long before Percival used the boy’s hunger for another’s kind touch to elicit more out of him.

More spoken words, more displayed emotion, and more willingness to do his wishes. The power given to Percival had intoxicated him. The man, who believed he’d been left with nothing, was offered everything the boy had. Percival was not a good man; Grindelwald had repeatedly tortured him with that fact and ripped his black heart out just to show it to him. 

He could not refuse what was so readily presented to him.

 

\--+--

 

Percival walked to the kitchen with a light limp. His leg had been broken by Grindelwald in their duel, but it had healed at a decent pace, thanks to Credence.

The boy was - amazing. He’d taken full control of his Obscurus and he still had the gall to act modestly about it. The very thought of it made Percival laugh humorlessly and then sigh in reverence.

No other known Obscurial had lived beyond the age of ten. And yet there at his dining table, the miracle that broke all expectations, was a living, breathing Obscurial who’d lived to his second decade and had gained dominance over the parasitic magic.

Credence had become - _ something _ , if not everything. It was absurd that he had mistaken the boy for anything less, and it would still be something he would beat himself up over many years later. From what fear he had for the Obscurus’ wild, destructive nature had become adoration and near worship for the boy -  _ man _ , Percival reminded himself - who easily overpowered Gellert Grindelwald. That amount of power would have been maddening. The Obscurial children who died hadn’t been able to hold on to their power, but yet Credence did, proof that he was something truly special.

Percival could not decide if this new respect for Credence had warped into something else. The young man had continually surprised him, the latest being his decision to save Percival’s life. Credence had yet to give him a reason for that, but Percival would prefer not to provoke him. He’d hoped Credence would voluntarily tell him himself. The longing looks Credence had for him all this while, even before his mistake that triggered these events, had not gone past his notice. Yet, the past couple of days, Credence avoided any eye contact with him, avoiding his presence even, and remained huddled in his corner, nose buried in his books.

He wondered if the boy ever forgave him for all the wrong he’d done to him before, but he did not hope for it. Percival himself didn’t think he deserved forgiveness anyway. No excuses or beliefs could pardon his actions, which he had voluntarily acted on. Remorse wouldn’t change what has already happened.

But Percival wanted to know - what were their plans now? With his former - with Grindelwald gone, and they’d betrayed him so openly, they were now in hiding not just from the authorities but from Grindelwald and his followers as well. With an exhausted sigh, he magicked a mug of his favourite coffee and limped to the dining table, not realizing he’d brought a mug of cocoa for Credence as well. It had become something automatic for him to do.

He stared at the extra mug before he approached the young man. “...Here,” he said, as he held the steaming mug to Credence, who blinked at him owlishly.

“...Thank you, sir,” Credence replied, after a moment’s hesitance.

“‘Sir’?” Percival asked, brows raised in surprise, though he had it in him to sound amused. He hadn’t heard Credence call him that in a while, or unless he was extremely nervous.

“...Mister Graves,” Credence corrected himself softly, hiding his face as he held the hot mug close. Stiff silence hung over them, leaving it awfully awkward and Percival restless. The older man sat across from him, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Credence, look at me,” Percival said, as gentle as he was capable of. The young man pointedly ignored him. “ _ Please _ , Credence.”

It took a little too long for him to do actually do as he requested, Percival noted. He looked just a tad anxious, but not fearful. Credence no longer looked as frightened as he was many months before. His boy had become an outstanding man. Percival blinked at his own thoughts.  _ His  _ boy _. _

“Why did you hurt Miss Goldstein?” Credence asked, the question hitting Percival almost like a slap. He did not expect that to be the first thing coming from the younger male. It took him a moment to respond.

“She was going to take you away,” Percival replied slowly, staring blankly at Credence who watched him intently. He wasn’t thinking as he spoke, but it was the truth. “From me.”

His answer made Credence blink, a confused look marring his features.

“I told you, I’m not a tool for you to use,” Credence reminded him, eyes shimmering with tears that welled up over the short pause before he spoke. The sudden emotion in Credence shook something in Percival.

“No, Credence,” Percival said, shaking his head, voicing it with conviction this time. He leaned forward in his seat, and Credence almost flinched back, but stopped himself from doing so. He held his position and stared back defiantly. “I didn’t want her to take you from me. Not her, not Scamander, not Grindelwald.”

“Is that why you fought Grindelwald? So instead of him using me for his means, you think you can control this monster inside me?” Credence snapped, voice cracking in his anger. Percival felt that jolt of powerful magic around him and almost choked on his breath. 

“I am not your property, Graves,” Credence added after a minute pause. He sounded quiet and controlled then, but Percival could see the power and the dark creature brimming under the lid.

“Nobody can hold you down, Credence. Not unless you allow them to,” Percival admitted, sounding forlorn about it. “Grindelwald couldn’t. I can’t either.” He closed his eyes, and briefly he saw the moment the Obscurus loomed over him, menacing and overpowering. He saw Credence stood there, eyes shining white. It made him shudder. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After a long moment, the magic in the air dissipated, and Percival exhaled slowly. He did not say anything else about his admittedly complicated feelings for the boy. He was unsure himself, but the only safe comment about it was that he was attracted to the overwhelming power the young man held. 

Credence himself, as the vessel, as the person with the willpower and ability to control all that, despite all he had gone through… Percival had no words to explain it. He gazed back at Credence who had not averted his eyes while Percival’s mind was racing nervously. Had he spoken the wrong words? What was the boy’s plans with him? Maybe this time, he was the one being used and would be discarded.

In the end, Credence did not reward him with a response. Percival supposed that was his punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a heavy and difficult chapter to write. Again, I think I'm poor at my pacing, so do tell me how I've done in the comments. After this, the content should be lighter. I hope you'll look forward to it! Thank you so much, to everyone who's read this little story of mine :)


	6. Enam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival wants, and so does Credence. His dark cloud becomes glistening silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating. It is a long chapter, but I couldn't stop it anywhere earlier. I hope I ended it at the right place, and I also hope you will enjoy it!

Credence was not afraid, but he was nervous, for lack of a better word, about what Graves’ had said to him many nights before. When he woke up that day, he found himself looking to the man’s side of the room where he slept. He was in his underclothing, covers carelessly thrown up to his chest, and his usually slicked hair was a mess, the grey and silver in it more pronounced. His stubble had grown considerably, and Credence hadn’t seen the man this unkempt before. Usually the man was neatly groomed and appropriately dressed. Handsome and well kept. 

When had they become this open and informal with each other?

Months ago, Credence had thought the man was an angel sent by God to wipe his tears and heal his wounds and bring him absolution. He’d sanctified the man and would have worshipped the ground he walked on.

Months later, the same man had been reduced to something human, maybe even something less.

Credence had once or twice thought of him as the Devil, to trick and tempt him from his good ways. Once when he first met the man who had been so unusually kind and patient with him, and Credence was not familiar to such things. Second, when the man tossed him like trash and sneered such derision to him and left him at the stairwell.

Other times, and more often now, Credence had begun to see him as just… a man. Sometimes, a miserable one. He had assumed that Grindelwald had done something to him, and the man’s brokenness had just begun to reveal itself. Maybe Credence had just been too blinded to have seen it before.

He understood the night terrors. Credence had them too. Sometimes the man’s whimpers and panic in the middle of the night brought Credence’s own nightmares upon him. If he was braver, he’d have went over to wake the man and soothe him. But Credence didn’t dare to face his own demons. How could he do the same for Graves?

Credence had seen many scars on the older man’s body during his attempt to patch him up. He had thought that magic would be able to heal all wounds and make all scars disappear, having seen the man did so to the ones on his palms, but it appeared that even some wounds couldn’t be fixed. He remembered that Graves was a sort of wizard police officer, and each scar was probably a trophy of some wizarding battles he’d gone through. Or maybe it could be as simple as a scratch from a fall. Credence wouldn’t know. He was sheltered with his own battles inside a small church.

He had seen traces of a deep gash on the man’s chest, another at his leg, and some other minor cuts along his torso. Credence wondered if any of them were life-threatening, and then thought of the ones he had on his arms and his back. It had become something of a norm for him, to have his body blemished with such ugly scars. He felt a bit of a connection with Graves over their scars. But he doubted either of them would be willing to talk about them.

Credence wondered if the man’s mind was as broken as his body. Graves had always appeared so strong and confident of himself. How did he hide a thing so well? Can Credence trust what the man had said? About not wanting to have Credence be taken away from him, that he had no plans to control Credence.

Even after months of thinking about it, Credence still could not come to a conclusion about his thoughts on Graves.

 

\--+--

 

Percival was surprised when Credence came up to him with his dinner and a hot beverage. They often had their dinner at the table, with either of them setting it up, but hardly personally serving the food to one another. They hadn’t spoken to each other much unless it was about magic for Credence’s learning.

The young man had given him a bit of the cold shoulder after they last spoke about his -  _ feelings _ towards him. It was expected, and in Percival’s mind, he was never great at relaying his thoughts. Most of his expressed emotions were often cold or negative, so something like this was way out of his league too.

“Thank you, Credence,” Percival said, managing a small smile to the young man’s way. Their hands brushed as Credence passed the plate of stew and bread to him, but Credence said nothing and nodded. Despite having come up to him, Credence went to sit at his bed. They ate their food in their own space at opposing sides of the room, facing each other.

The physical distance between them was bigger with a lack of a dining table, but somehow, it felt more intimate.

Credence did not avoid him again after that.

The younger man suggested moving, surprisingly. To move the entire bunker to somewhere else, completely out of New York. “Maybe out in the desert in Arizona,” Credence proposed flatly. Percival was not sure if he was attempting a joke. At least, it was something for them to work towards to.

Percival had gained back his strength and was capable of doing decent magic again. With Credence’s help, it wouldn’t be a big deal to actually move their space to another state. If Credence were to refine his skills, they might even be able to leave the country, but the young man was not ready for that. Not yet.

It took a while, but eventually they managed to move their little bunker to -  _ somewhere _ \- but not too far. They would have to physically travel with their bunker charmed into a pocket if they wanted to get anywhere beyond faster, hitching a ride on the no-maj trains, but that would have to wait. Percival had no plan or proper destination, and Credence didn’t mind as well. They could take their time as long as they remain out of sight. The young man seemed eager to just leave all the bad memories behind with the city and Percival agreed wholeheartedly.

He had nothing left there, with his name in ruins and all his assets frozen for sure. He had no attachment to them, no bonds he’d truly miss. He wondered what had become of Seraphina - if Grindelwald had actually gotten to her - about Tina and her sister Queenie, and the strange magizoologist Newt Scamander. It was no loss to him not to see them again. It was just... a shame.

Percival’s thoughts about the fight for wizardkind had just faded to the back of his head. He didn’t want to think about fighting anymore, about MACUSA, about their pathetic excuse of a justice system, and about his tarnished name that would have sent his ancestors rolling in their graves. He especially did not want to think about Grindelwald, and while he doubted MACUSA could hold him for long, he’d hope the man wouldn’t pursue them. He was more keen to continue helping Credence with his studies, as long as the young man needed him to.

Credence’s powers were steadily growing. He no longer had a need for a wand at that point, leaving what few spare wands they had for Percival’s emergency uses, and the Obscurial smoke had become a more common sight. It was still powerful, condensing the air around them with its magic whenever summoned, but it lacked the savage will of its known violent tendencies. It had instead turned into an extension of Credence, the wisps of smoke twirling around his hands, almost playfully weaving through his fingers.

Percival would often watch, eyes tracking the movement of the black matter trailing around its host. It gave the young man an ethereal appearance, almost regal, with light reflected on the young man’s now longer, softly curled hair, projecting an illusion of a crown. Tendrils of the black vapour would rise from his shoulders, as if his body had become smoke and could disappear anytime. 

Recently, Percival found himself reaching out to Credence more often. Physically, he needed the assurance that Credence was still there with him. He appreciated that each time Credence had begun to push back into his hands, leaning into his palm as Percival stroked the back of his head and run calloused fingers through his hair. 

Initially, it began with Percival’s arm wrapped around the younger male’s shoulder in a half-hug as an encouraging gesture especially when Credence botched a difficult spell. It then extended to become a full embrace, with his arms circled around the smaller male’s waist. Eventually, Credence became emboldened enough to tuck his head against the crook of Percival’s neck. But always, Credence would be the one to pull away first.

Percival did not want to be left alone. Credence had become his purpose. His saviour from capture, yet also his student and his ward. He’d given him something to do and to look forward to, now that he’s lost his position and mission. The Obscurial needed a guide and a mentor, and even though Percival knew very well how powerful the younger man was, he needed someone to look out for him. 

At least, that was what Percival told himself: Credence needed him.

He could not let the young man out of his sight. Whenever he Apparated, Percival had to follow right after him, worried, that once he disappeared, he wouldn’t come back. He found himself trailing the younger man closer, always watching, getting restless if Credence weren’t in his peripheral vision. Always had to get a physical hold on the Obscurial before he escaped his watch. If the younger man had noticed or felt any annoyance of his new found habit, he made no sign of his aversion towards it.

Credence, however, had to ask him one day, “Why did you follow Grindelwald?”

They were taking a stroll after one of their practice sessions. They kept their activities away from any nearby settlements, deep in some random woods and far away from other human contact so they wouldn’t give away their position. Credence had become proficient in stealth and Disillusionment charms from all the practice they had to stay hidden. Their contact with other people were kept to a minimum as well, only seeking no-majs for supplies than be reckless and approach magical folk while they were still fugitives in that world. Percival preferred it that way.

Credence’s voice was cautious, not wanting to offend or agitate. Their shoulders brushed as they walked close together, side by side at a matching pace. Their close proximity helped to keep them just a little warmer in the chilly weather. It had been cold for a while.

Percival shrugged, blinking the initial pain that shadowed his body momentarily. “Seraphina - the President - sent me to track him down,” Percival said, avoiding what Credence was really asking. It took him a second, before he continued. “I found him, he killed my men, and he took me. He had me in his cellar for days.”

Credence remained quiet, listening as he pressed their bodies even closer while they walked. “I hate not being able to fight back,” Percival admitted eventually. “Hate that I can’t do anything.” They walked over the small clearing, each step followed by a loud crunch of dried leaves. “He let me do something.”

“He forced you,” Credence added quietly, questioningly.

Percival let out a humorless huff. “He did. And he didn’t,” Percival replied with a dismissive shrug. “We had to do it.”  _ For the Greater Good _ , Grindelwald’s drawl echoed in his mind. Percival pushed that thought away and Credence didn’t ask anymore questions.

Instead, the younger man changed the topic to an inquiry about America’s wizarding school, much to Percival’s relief. Percival just gave him an overview about Ilvermorny, the different school houses, and recounting some of his days there. He told Credence about some of the subjects taught, the Fantastic Beasts they got to interact with, and certain mishaps that happened during classes. Credence listened to every word with interest, looking fascinated as he imagined the world of a magical school he never had the chance to attend.

Percival informed him that he was from the Wampus House (“You don’t look like a cat person, Mister Graves,” Credence told him dryly - “It’s a Wampus cat, not some domesticated house pet,” Percival grumbled defensively) which favoured warriors, and he gave Credence his guess that the young man would probably be in the House of the Horned Serpent, which favoured scholars. Credence apparently took that as the highest compliment, and the grin Percival received from that was blinding. It was enough to warm his cold day.

They returned to their bunker quietly, had dinner as usual, and cleaned up. They didn’t do much that day other than the routine practicing of spells. The stroll was a bit of a treat that Credence had asked for and Percival had little reason to deny his request.

As Percival got ready for bed, he didn’t expect another body to slip into it with him. He shot a questioning look at the younger man, who’d already pulled his covers up to his chin, eyes closed. Credence only opened his eyes to peer at him when Percival just stared at him for a while.

“I’m cold,” Credence said matter-of-factly, eyes daring Percival to argue. Percival didn’t say anything, but he did dare to pull Credence close to his front as he laid on his side. He was rewarded with a surprised sound from the Obscurial.

Percival had his first dreamless sleep in a long while that night.

 

\--+--

 

They began to sleep in the same bed more often.

Credence would use the temperature an excuse, even after Percival had charmed the bunker to be warmer. The older wizard chose not to point it out, because Percival knew the young man wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t want to embarrass him for whatever reasons Credence had decided to keep sharing the bed with him.

Percival’s bed wasn’t big - a single bed just like Credence’s on the other side of the room, though admittedly, he did find the extra warm body in bed quite comfortable. Just that it was cramped since they were two full grown men in a bed meant for one.

But Credence was adamant, and eventually, every night without fail, he would join Percival in his bed and they would huddle and sleep. In the end, Credence vanished his own bed and somehow transfigured the bed they shared into something more fitting for the  two of them.

Percival was determined not to concede that the sleeping arrangements bothered him.

As each night passed, laid atop of each other, Percival noticed the extra scent to the younger man. The spice of something sharp and dark, and a little like ash and burning embers. Percival came to learn that it was the smell of the Obscurus, but mixed with Credence’s magic. It smelled like something wild and dangerous, but at the same time, somber, and the scent grew stronger whenever Credence used the dark magic. It fit the young man perfectly though, and sometimes, when he was certain Credence was deeply asleep, he’d tuck his nose to Credence’s nape and inhaled, wanting to memorize the smell.

He didn’t touch Credence any more than necessary, other than to hold him in place against him.

Credence continued to beguile him, deliberately or not. The younger man’s hair had grown longer, a soft, wavy mess that shaped his softly chiseled face and reached past his ears. He often had to tuck his fringe behind them lest it fell into his eyes and obscured his vision. Doing so only framed his delicate features and the sharp jaw that trailed to a refined and enticingly pale neck. He did it too often that Percival grew annoyed and offered to cut it for him, but the young man refused.

“I like it long,” Credence said with a curl to his lips that skirted close to a coy smile. “Don’t you?”

Percival grunted a non-answer, not allowing the boy the satisfaction.

But Percival did like it. He liked the sensation of his fingers in them, tangled when he got a little too carried away with petting the younger male absent-mindedly. He enjoyed its softness against his skin whenever the man rested on him in a position not unlike a cuddle. He’d imagined curling his fingers in the soft locks to tug on them and watch the younger man’s mouth drop in a quiet moan.

Credence was becoming much too distracting. 

Distracting enough that Percival couldn’t even conjure up a decent Patronus to present to Credence for his lesson on it.

“Are you trying to conjure up your own Obscurus?” Credence asked curiously, bemused as he observed the wisps of silver light that sputtered out the tip of Percival’s wand. The older man sighed in exasperation.

“It’s a Patronus charm, a very powerful, complicated magic,” Percival explained, feeling rather put out at his lack of success. “It’s a magic that’s been used since ancient times. Not a lot of wizards can conjure a corporeal one successfully.”

Credence watched studiously as Percival attempted once more. His heavy brows furrowed in concentration, thinking of the happiest memory he could think of. When he had graduated top of the class from Ilvermorny. When he became an Auror, and then promoted to Director. Percival held onto those memories, and began to draw circles with his wand, as he murmured the incantation.  _ Expecto Patronum. _

A feeble cloud of light manifested from his wand, but did not gather into a solid shape. Percival had only managed to summon an incorporeal Patronus, but a very weak one. He dismissed it with an annoyed grunt, but he wasn’t too disappointed; he hadn’t had much good memories to use of, and he knew he wasn’t that pure of heart either. In his line of work he had little use of the charm, though it did come in handy when dark wizards had dark creatures on their side. Percival had paid little mind to his lack of skill in the charm since he had other spells in his arsenal that he was much more adept at.

“Let me try,” Credence piped up, a twinkle in his eye that was always there when he found something of interest. Percival did not expect Credence to get it the first time, even if he knew the young man had tremendous talent. He was eager to see his attempts though, and wondered what form would suit Credence, perchance that his Patronus was a corporeal one.

Credence slowly twirled his finger, drawing circles in place of a wand that he no longer needed. Wisps of the familiar black Obscurus smoke gathered lightly around him. A sliver of light escaped from the tip of his finger, but soon dissipated.

It was a failure.

Credence attempted again. And again, and again. The Obscurial could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and did not like to be interrupted while in the middle of his studying, so Percival allowed him to try. He was interested to see it as well.

But the Charm had proven to be Credence’s strongest adversary yet. After an hour’s worth of attempts, Percival had to usher him back to their bunker so they could eat.

“I don’t understand,” Credence insisted once they’d finished their dinner, brows furrowed as he worried at his lip. He had poured over his (Percival’s) books immediately for answers. Their sides and legs were pressed together, both of them covered in books on advanced magic and history and of Patronuses. “I did think of the happiest, most positive memory. It didn’t work.”

“What did you think of?” Percival asked, quite curious. “Maybe it wasn’t a strong enough memory.”

“That’s quite a private question, Mister Graves,” Credence frowned at him, and Percival smirked as he turned back to his book. He didn’t think Credence would tell him. Who knew what happy memories Credence had that Percival didn’t know of.

“It takes a lot of patience and willpower. And it is a very advanced form of magic,” Percival reminded, absently flipping through pages. “Many wizards take years of training. Most people can’t even summon a decent one. I still can’t.”

Credence muttered an apology, hunching just a little bit but relaxed once Percival did Credence’s favourite: fingers in his hair and rubbing at the spot right at the base of his skull. The young man almost melted under his touch.

“The book says it should look like an animal if fully formed. The shape depends on the caster’s personality,” Credence read aloud as he glanced at Percival. “I think yours would be a bear.”

Percival had never conjured a full-fledged Patronus before, so he had no idea what form his would look like. Credence’s suggestion amused him though. “Why a bear?”

“It’s big and strong,” Credence replied with a shrug, before ducking his head again and focused intently on the book. Percival could see how red the tips of his ears were.

“I think you’d be a cat,” Percival told him with a teasing tone. He chuckled when Credence looked up with a questioning gaze, but almost rolled his eyes shut as Percival pressed his thumb along his nape, looking much like a purring cat. It made Percival feel a little heady. “See? Like a cat.”

Credence flushed furiously and didn’t speak to him for the next few hours.

 

\--+--

 

It had been almost a year since Credence first met Graves.

It was his fifth month living with the man in their home that was both a hideout and a bunker, and also a safe place from their pursuers.

Credence had control of his Obscurus, and nobody would be able to track them down. He knew he didn’t have full command of the creature yet, which would sometimes torment him in his dreams with awful memories and visions, but it had not fought with him for control. It was strangely obedient, and with it Credence became adept in his magic, that came in the form of black-red smoke and glowing white eyes.

Graves had no mind to pursue injustice and chase the light of glory, too old and tired and broken for such a naive fantasy. He was content with his current place of teaching him, and it did something to Credence’s chest thinking about it. Their months together after they’d moved away from the city, further and further to the middle of the continent had been - dare he say, peaceful.

Credence had never felt more content in the twenty years he had lived. Even with all the death and pain and torture he’d been through before. The guilt still weighed on his shoulders over the lives lost thanks to him - to his creature. If there truly was a God, surely He would have abandoned him by now. He’d even died, once, but he was reborn into this - not-person and not-beast thing? - an Obscurial. It was still surreal to think about it, even as he practiced his spells under the tutelage of a once accomplished wizard.

He still feared that he would wake up one day, back in the attic of the church, awoken by his abusive adoptive mother, and that all that had occurred had been a dream. The clink of a belt buckle still made him nervous. He was still apprehensive about the shadows at corners where sometimes his mother would watch him from. He also missed Modesty and ached at the loss of her memory of him. And yet now he was living… freely.

The thought of it all as just an illusion was a nightmare itself. Ironically, the now familiar presence of his magic, both the light of his own and the dark of his parasitic manifestation, had become something comforting and fitting, when it had been the source of all his misery before.  _ Consorting with the Devil _ , his mind offered.

Graves called his name. Credence stared at the older man dazedly. A man he once admired, even treasured; was betrayed by, begged for forgiveness from, and now -

“Credence?” Graves called one more time, concern in his dark, intense eyes, heavy brows furrowed expressing an emotion bordering between impatience and worry. Those looks used to intimidate him, when he was so afraid of disappointing someone who’d actually shown some interest in him.

And now, Credence was…  _ attached  _ to the man. Probably had been so from the very beginning. The intensity of the feeling of need and want that had been twisted into a type of hunger that burned in his gut alarmed him. He craved Graves’ touches on him, and relished the amount of physical contact they had that came more often, more comfortable with each other now.

Credence no longer had a reason to be afraid, and Graves had relinquished something to him, something Credence didn’t understand at first, but it felt like they were of more equal footing now. The older man constantly reminded Credence of his power and the rule he could have over not just him, but on others. It sounded almost like another of his tempting words, but Credence could tell the difference now.

The insistence and fevered tone in his words were gone, replaced by adoration, pride and - reverence? His dark eyes looked at Credence with marvel, his embraces lingering longer and felt warmer, and it left Credence wanting. The man was torturing him with every contact they made, and Credence had finally dared to want more.

He’d made his first step with his insistence to share a bed. Credence did like the warm body beside him; it felt familiar, and that was something new for Credence. He still had a long way before he would truly call the feeling as ‘safe’. He liked Graves’ smell, a musk of something masculine mixed with a unique scent of magic that was like the sharp smell of ozone, like air burned by lightning. The man was larger than him, more muscled, and somehow their bodies fit nicely, even if Graves was just a little shorter.

Credence felt  _ good. _

Graves hadn’t said anything about their changes. Nothing about Credence’s invasion of his bed and nothing of Credence’s need for more physical touch. Not even a word when Credence sometimes almost nuzzled him whenever the man held him close. Credence was ashamed that he was greedy enough to still craved for more. It had felt dirty at first, this physical need that was once beaten out of it him because it was seen as a sin and something immoral. He no longer had anything holding him back, and Graves did tell him: Credence was  _ free. _

But he had to be sure before he did anything stupid. Credence wanted to know if Graves knew what he was doing to him. So he approached the man one night, just before bed, already in their pajamas and under the covers.

“Why are you still with me?” Credence boldly asked. The surprised look on Graves’ face would have amused him, if he wasn’t asking a loaded question.

“What kind of question is that?” Graves deflected, letting out a nervous huff.

“A proper one,” Credence said, keeping his gaze on him. He watched and waited patiently for an answer, as the older man looked uncomfortable and nervous, a very rare appearance on him.

“I don’t want you away from me,” Graves said eventually, after a resigned sigh and decided to look into Credence’s eyes. “I don’t need you as a tool. I don’t even have a purpose to use you for. And you’re far too powerful for me or anyone to use, we’ve established that.”

“Yes. But if you mean that you feel obligated to look out for me -” Graves laughed and shook his head.

“I’m not obligated. If anything, I’m honoured you even allowed me to stay around you, Credence,” Graves told him. “I decided to stick around with you because you’re… special. To me.”

Credence tried not to react to the man’s words, but he felt his lower lip tremble from hearing such kind, tempting words. He lowered his head and composed himself before he dared to face Graves again, seeing him search his face. Credence forced himself not to look away, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“You could have cast me aside and find a better teacher than me. I know I’ve done many wrongs and mistakes to you, Credence. Yet you’ve let me stay by your side,” Graves continued. He seemed to have a lot to say now, as if he was letting out everything he’d been holding in.

“You… you saved me, Credence. Not just literally. I had nothing after betraying MACUSA. I don’t want to do Grindelwald’s bidding. I had thought he could make a difference for us, the witches and wizards. But it’s you. You’ve made a difference to me. I know you can make a difference to the world if you choose to. And I want to help you do that.”

Graves moved close, and for a moment, looked hesitant to bring his hand over to Credence’s neck despite having done so many times before. “Now let me ask you again, Credence. Why didn’t you leave me back then for the Aurors to take me?”

Credence swallowed, automatically lowering his head once again, emotion welling inside him. He hadn’t anticipated all those words and then questioned instead. He was unsure of what the man had spoken to him; Credence was no saviour, and he wasn’t special, he just happened to have the Devil in him. The warped creature born of his magic. He didn’t know if Graves was just saying all this or if he really thought it. And Credence was slightly ashamed he still couldn’t admit or at least offer some excuse for his actions back then in the city.

He was afraid to tell the truth, somehow still worried it’ll be twisted into something else.

Credence felt Graves’s warm, calloused hands cupping his jaw, sliding slowly to his cheeks. His thumbs caressed along his cheekbone. Slowly, almost carefully, the older man cradled Credence’s face in his hands, and tilted it up to him. Graves was giving that small smile Credence had begun to see more often; small and hesitant and didn’t reach his eyes, as if he wasn’t used wearing such an expression, but it was done so gently and so  _ adoringly _ .

His mind and creature were apprehensive - always will be, always protective of their host - not wanting to be fooled, but Credence was so weak to this, he wanted this so bad.

He couldn’t resist.

Confident, bold, hungry - Credence closed the gap between their lips without so much as a warning. He’d barely caught the surprised look on Graves’ face before he’d closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste of the older man’s lips on his tongue.

The man moaned, sounding somewhat like he was having an internal struggle out loud before he finally gave in and pulled Credence on top of him, straddled over his lap as he reciprocated the kiss just as heatedly. Their groins touched, and Credence had never felt pleasure like it before. He hadn’t even realized he had a growing arousal, too distracted by Graves’ tongue in his mouth. Credence melted under the large, strong hands of the former Auror, almost mewled as those rough fingers dug lightly into the flesh of his bottom and pushed him into the man’s hips.

Credence gasped, feeling that jolt of pleasure shooting through his spine and straight to his cock. He whimpered, thinking of the sin of such carnal acts, before Graves’ lips took his breath and thoughts away.

“Graves,” Credence moaned, and struggled to get the older man’s pajama top, something smooth and silk and rich. The older man huffed but did the same for him, and Credence was sure he could have magicked their clothes off, but he himself felt this was much better. It was more satisfying to physically touch.

They got undressed fairly easily, though they were unable to part for long, their mouths hungry and desperate for each others’ taste. Credence’s hand roamed over the older man’s body, still muscled and firm and reflected the man’s physical strength from his former work. He’d only seen the man near naked when he first took his unconscious body away and healed him, but this was his first intimate look. 

Credence blushed as his eyes roamed over the expanse of slightly tan skin, followed the trail of chest hair that tapered down past his navel. Graves’ cock was growing hard and dark with blood, just slightly bigger and thicker than his own. Credence was tempted to touch.

The old scar on the man’s chest, and a few others more on his limbs were in plain view, but Graves showed no indication of any shame. Credence thought of his own scars, the ones on his arms and on his back, yet he didn’t feel as self-conscious about it anymore.

Graves, meanwhile, couldn’t stop touching him. His hands roamed over his back, his front, his neck and into his hair again, moving almost frantic as if he needed to mark every inch of Credence with his touch. His caress was tender, especially over his scars, but they were firm when Credence attempted to squirm out of his hold. His heated breath warmed Credence’s pale skin as his mouth followed the path of his hands, stopping once in a while to mark Credence with a harsh suck to leave evidence of his kisses there.

Credence felt that his own cock was hard, made so by the pleasure the other man’s hands and lips brought him. His eyes lingered on Graves’ arousal and did not waver as he held it in his hand, jerking the man off as he pressed his own to it. That earned him a guttural groan before he was fiercely kissed, teeth nipping at his lower lip, rough fingers dragging over Credence’s thighs.

“Fuck,” he heard Graves mutter as Credence continued to stroke them. He himself was speechless, letting his mouth hang open as pleasure took over. Graves did not stop, putting his mouth to constant use, sucking hard on Credence’s pale neck and shoulders, sometimes even biting down hard enough to bruise. The sting of them only made the younger man harder.

“Graves -  _ Perce _ -” Credence gasped, pressing his forehead to Graves’. His hand moved frantically, wanting to cum. He felt his cock throb in his hand, and the wave of pleasure that hit him as the older man arched and thrust his hips into him pushed Credence to his climax.

Credence came hard, moaning out Graves’ name as he clung onto the man, his body jerking and hips twitching up into his fist as strings of cum covered both his hand and Graves’ navel. He was still panting for breath when Graves brought his face up for another kiss, a deep, sensual one. He barely registered it, until the man laid him down on the bed and lowered his kisses further down his stomach. Credence watched Graves dazedly, the man stroking himself while pleasuring Credence with his mouth. The young man jerked, still too sensitive from his orgasm.

And then when he felt that warm, moist heat engulfing his cock, Credence cried out, body arched off the bed and clutching at Graves’ hair. He shuddered, especially with the older man moaning as he sucked him down furiously. He could feel the man’s lips that tightened around his girth, the slick, skillful tongue that massaged against his length and felt the tip of his cock push against the man’s  inner cheeks.

Credence mumbled a prayer as he dared to peek down to see Graves with his mouth full of him. Credence felt light headed, his vision blurred from the constant waves of ecstasy. He could only utter the older man’s name, over and over until he came a second time, only for his release to be swallowed down.

“Ah,” he heard Graves grunt, prompting him to look down. The man looked debauched, hair no longer slicked back and a tangled mess under Credence’s fingers. His lips were wet with spit and his release. His eyes were glazed as he looked up at Credence with a smug grin.

“You haven’t…” Credence murmured as he eyed Graves’ erection. He didn’t let the older wizard retort, immediately flipping their positions before the man could say a word. He had Graves on his back, straddled his lap again and held the man’s cock in his hand. Graves exhaled shakily, and Credence felt emboldened by the man’s expression. He beamed at him, staring down at the blown pupils before leaning down to kiss him again.

Credence relished the look of open wonder on Graves, the way his eyes raked over Credence’s form. The feeling of dominance was something Credence hardly ever experienced, and there, in Graves’s lap and holding the man by his cock with his tongue in the man’s mouth was both amusing and exhilarating. Intoxicating and empowering, even. It was no wonder people desperately clung on to such a position, where they can control others to their whims.

Credence felt himself smile. He felt the Obscurus envelop him, just for a moment. Something was growing inside him, and he smelled the familiar scent of ash and dark magic. The hands that settled on Credence’s thighs tightened their grip as Graves began to look desperate, needy and wanting more.

“Credence… Credence,” the man seemed at a loss of what to say, but his cock was hard and leaking and his hips were fidgeting restlessly. It tempted Credence to draw this out.

“Shhh,” Credence smirked, placing a finger to his lips . The smell of burning cinders sweetened into something pungent and warm. Dark magic weaved through his body right down to his fingertips, and he was sure it had some effect on him, because Graves looked even more aroused than he was just before.

“Credence, fuck,” Graves groaned, a pained grimace as he held Credence by his hips, thumb caressing along the arch of the bone there. They kissed again hungrily, Graves burying a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make Credence moan in his mouth. They won’t go all the way for now, Credence wasn’t ready, and Graves would respect his decision.

If he wasn’t, Credence could make him. He was in control of this. But it appeared that the presence of his Obscurus was more than enough. The man seemed to be even more excited by its magic. Credence began to stroke Graves again. 

The man was already at his limit, copious amounts of precum from whatever effects Credence’s magic had on him, and from when he’d sucked Credence off. It wouldn’t take long for him, Credence reckoned. He kept their mouths together, toying the older man’s lips with his teeth. He allowed tendrils of the black vapour blanket over them, the spark of dark magic making the atmosphere heavy, almost suffocating. Credence felt Graves’ cock twitch in his hand.

“Credence, sweet boy,” Graves repeated,  _ lovingly _ , his voice soft with something like reverence that only made Credence shudder. His hands held Credence tightly, as if afraid the younger man would disappear.

The Obscurus’ presence that felt formless and light seemed to gather behind him and momentarily solidified; Credence could not see it but felt it behind him, and something in Graves’ look showed that he must have seen something different than usual.

The moment was gone right after, and Credence squeezed his grip on Graves, pushing him to the edge, leaving the older man moaning his name, tugging his head down by his hair for more hungry kisses and hot, heavy breaths.

In their haze, Credence distantly noted that the magic in air and in him dissipated, allowing them to breathe easily again. Credence rested on top of Graves, pretty much sprawled over the man like a satisfied cat and  uncaring of their mess between their bodies. He was tired, but extremely pleased. Smug, even. And sleepy. Graves appeared to be in a similar state, if not worse. The Obscurus must have really affected him, though probably in a good way, seeing how gratified the man appeared with the breathless smirk on his face.

“What did you see?” Credence found himself asking after a while, once they’d gotten out of their post-orgasm haze. His voice was slurred with sleep though, and would’ve have purred like the content cat he was if he could, too comfortable to do anything else but sleep. Graves agreed.

“Go to sleep, my boy,” the man said, and Credence sighed at the familiar petname. It had been a while since he’d heard Graves call him that. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Mm,” was all Credence managed to reply, before sleep pulled him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patronus reference: <http://patronusmeaning.tumblr.com>


	7. Tujuh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there's Newt, there are creatures. Specifically, a Thunderbird, a Lethifold, and a Patronus.

They didn’t talk about it the next morning. 

Or the many mornings after that.

But the both of them were quite inseparable after their first intimate night together. Graves kept close, almost constantly having some part of him in contact with Credence. The young man should find it strange, find it invasive and possessive and bad, but he had been deprived enough in his early years  to find comfort in it instead. Credence doesn't mention it.

They continued traveling, towards Arizona that Credence had jokingly mentioned. Credence didn’t mind it at all. He had grown to enjoy the warmer temperatures, and the further they got away from New York, the less need they had to hide themselves. Credence’s longer hair made him look different, and Graves had grown out a decent beard. If anyone were to recognize them, both of them were skilled enough to go invisible in a second.

They began to sleep in motels and inns, or camp in the outdoors, allowing Credence his chance to appreciate nature. The young man thrived in it; having been stuck in the city all his life, the open air was refreshing.  And it looked like Graves needed the change in scenery too. Having magic was such a convenience, Credence had spoiled himself and couldn’t believe how no-majs could have power over the magical. It was an experience, travelling America; Credence had never dared to dream of such a life, such a blessing.

Occasionally they did run across some Aurors and Grindelwald followers who'd manage to catch wind of them, but most of the time they managed to get away. Credence had insisted they should run rather than fight back, because it would be a waste of time and life if Credence were to slip from control. Graves had agreed, but he kept a protective closeness to Credence as if to make up for that. Fortunately for them, they hadn't had any major encounters.

After what seemed like countless days (Credence didn’t bother keeping track of time anymore), they actually reached Arizona. Not that either of them had any idea what to do there.

“Maybe we can settle here,” Credence suggested. He’d seen some settlements and ranches on their journey. A couple of odd houses in the middle of nowhere, too. “There’s no one to chase us here in a place this big, it’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Not exactly inconspicuous to set up a lone building in the middle of nothing,” Graves gruffly pointed out. He didn’t seem to enjoy the heat as Credence did. So they ended up setting their charmed bunker, turned into a real house, somewhere for the shade and waited for night when it was cooler.

That same night however, Credence sensed some strange magic in the air. Graves seemed to notice too. He reinforced their charms and wards, but the feeling did not go away. They heard the rumble of thunder and felt the humidity in the air rise at an unnaturally fast rate.

It was more than just odd.

At Credence’s insistence, Graves relented and they went to check outside, and surprisingly, the desert night sky was even darker than it should be. The cool humid wind and the streaks of light in the clouds warned them of an incoming storm, but both of them could sense that it wasn’t a normal one.

“Is this storm summoned by magic?” Credence asked, squinting as he stared at the clouds.

“Yes, but this seems…” Graves murmured, glaring at the sky as if recognizing it what it meant. “I think it’s a thunderbird.”

“A what?”

“Exactly what it is. A bird that brings thunder,” Graves said as he searched the skies distractedly. He seemed to debate with himself before he told Credence to get back in. But by then, Credence  had spotted something in the clouds as they suddenly parted.

“What…”

Credence heard Graves curse under his breath. A magnificent avian beast had emerged from the same rain clouds and was heading in their direction, its numerous wings powerful enough to conjure strong winds. Credence was rooted to his spot, enthralled by the sight. This was his first time seeing a magical beast. “That… that is a Thunderbird?”

Graves, however, was not amused. He dragged Credence behind him and whipped out his wand with a snarl, pointing at it threateningly at the beast as it drew closer. The thunderbird, however, did not falter as it swooped down towards them, letting out a cry as if in warning. Credence watched nervously; he didn’t understand why Graves was so hostile to it, but it did look like a dangerous creature. Credence readied his magic as well, anticipating something to happen.

Something happened, but it wasn’t what Credence expected.

The giant, eagle-like creature landed before them gentler than one would think of its size, gracefully even. And then, a figure dropped down from its back, as if it had been riding it. Credence perked up when he stared at the approaching person. Someone in a blue coat and with a curled mop of red hair.

“Oh bugger. I didn’t expect this,” the stranger said, in a voice that Credence would recognize anywhere.

  
  


\--+--

 

Percival wasn’t pleased.

The magizoologist who had aided in his arrest was in their bunker-turned-house, having tea and conversing with Credence like an old time friend. He had wanted to send a curse flying at the wiry wizard when he first saw him, but the fact that he had the support of a thunderbird _ and _ Credence, meant that he wouldn’t get out of the fight unscathed.

Newt Scamander wasn’t too comfortable with his presence either, evident in the apprehensive look the man gave him every once in awhile. Percival acted like he paid little mind to the conversation between Credence and Scamander, and he had no place in it either, but it was good to be in the know. He was sure the strange wizard knew that their conversation wasn’t as private as he would like, especially since the former Auror and current fugitive was seated very closely and quite possessively beside Credence, but it didn’t seem to hold back his words.

“I’m sure you know what Percival Graves has done, Credence, so I think my concerns about his presence here is quite justified,” Scamander said, as if he wasn’t the one who was invading their private space. “But I’m most concerned about is you. Are you… truly in control?”

“I’m fine, Mister Newt,” Credence replied with a pleased smile. It annoyed Percival how easily the younger man showed a face like that to the other wizard. He remembered the similar look he had for Tina back then in the city too. “And you don’t have to worry about Mister Graves, he’s been helping me learn magic.”

“He is?” the wizard blinked in surprise. “He’s… not holding you or anything? Grindelwald managed to turn him to his side, but clearly he didn’t do well with you. I’m also worried about your Obscurus. It is still with you, is it not?” Scamander asked curiously, looking quite eager for new information, and a bit restless with his hands, as if he needed to take notes or something of the like.

“Yeah, but it’s not as - as wild, I think. I haven’t lost control in a long time. I don’t know why, but I’ll make sure it stays that way,” Credence said, sounding definite in his answer. Percival imagined how Credence must have clearly changed in the other wizard's eyes. With his long hair and healthier figure, and the bolder personality that no longer shied away from anything, Credence would have appeared like a completely different person altogether.

Scamander looked over Credence, observing him like a scientist would to a particular subject, but then it softened into a friendly smile. He seemed to have approved of what he saw, and was genuinely concerned for Credence. Percival thought he saw a piece of Tina in him - all heart and emotion. Percival remembered all the lashes of lightning he’d whipped at the man on the train tracks. For a moment he regretted that he hadn't done more damage, if the magical zookeeper were to keep taking up their time and space like this.

But Percival remembered Tina. He was sure that if they were still in better terms, the woman would send him a Howler. Or a very intricate curse. His former subordinate could be spiteful if she wanted to be.

“What were you doing here, Mister Newt? How… how is Miss Goldstein?”

“Just Newt is fine, Credence,” Scamander insisted bashfully. “I was checking up on Frank. I had to see how he was faring after I released him to New York. Had to make sure he found his way back here, where he belongs and stay free.”

Then his eyes momentarily went to Percival and lowered his voice just a little, “Tina is fine, Credence. She was - She was quite broken up about you.”

Credence nodded, lowering his gaze and sadness in his posture. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured. “Both of you tried to help me. I haven’t even thanked you.”

“None of that now, you were just -  _ misled,”  _ Scamander said, desperately trying  _ not _ to look at Percival again, before adding quickly. “Would you like to send her a letter? I can pass it to her on my way back.”

“If it is no trouble,” Credence said gratefully with a small smile.  “Thank you, Newt.” The red-haired wizard beamed warmly in response. 

Percival interrupted icily, “Who is this ‘Frank’?”

Scamander frowned at his tone, still fidgeting. His fidgeting only made Percival glare at the wizard in annoyance. Credence asked then, dispersing the tension, “Do you mean that thunderbird?”

“Oh! Yes. He was giving me a bit of a tour over the desert, you see, but then he sensed danger and delivered me to you. He probably thought you could give me some shelter,” Scamander replied, throwing another glance at Percival, who gave him a snarky smile.

The redhead looked away anxiously, thumbing something in his palm. Probably that same blasted flying creature which kept spitting things at people. Percival hated the experience he had, and wouldn’t want a repeat of it. It was slimy.

“So, Mister Scamander. What was the danger?” Percival decided to ask, his tone patronising. He had to look out for Credence anyway, and had to plan their move in case it was any pursuers after them.

“I don’t - I don’t know,” Scamander replied, sounding a little frustrated. “Though, on my way over before I met up with Frank, I heard that there was a Lethifold around. I’m not sure how such a rare beast would have found its way to the desert where there’s nothing much for it to eat but -”

“What’s a Lethifold?”

“It’s a black, cloak like creature. It’s… not a pretty thing,” Percival told him. He'd had been in contact with the vile creature before. He was thankful he didn't get a repeat encounter.

“Also, it eats people,” Scamander added helpfully. Credence visibly paled at that. “Usually if there's one in the area, it wouldn't be a problem, but since Frank was quite disturbed by it… it must be a powerful one. It was strange, though. Too strange.”

“Don’t Lethifolds stick to the ground? How did your thunderbird sense it? It wouldn’t be able to harm you or the bird while you were in the air.”

“That’s the thing, see. It was strange, because  _ I _ could sense it. Even stranger, it felt like a powerful Dementor, dread and cold mist. A possible rare or subspecies of the specimen, because they are thought to be related to the Dementors, so I was thinking of-”

“How is there any here anyway? Thought they're only at the tropics?” Percival snappily interrupted, before Scamander could prattle on about his creatures.

“Most likely a smuggler. Or a dark wizard,” Scamander offered, looking away.

Percival sighed and rubbed at his forehead. If there really was one, it would mean trouble, especially if it was dangerous enough to set off the thunderbird’s senses. And if it really were a unique, powerful type, that wouldn't even be a joke.

“So uh, I'm grateful for your hospitality,” Scamander said, mostly saying it to Credence. “I'll be out of your hair once morning comes. Frank will be coming by to pick me up, if he thinks it’s safe.”

Percival would have muttered his gratitude to have the stranger out of his space, but Credence was already offering. “You can come by anytime, Mister Newt. If - if you don't mind, I'd like to learn more about your creatures.”

“Of course I don't mind, Credence! Anything,” Scamander readily agreed, smiling shyly. “You can meet one of them right now actually - ah, come out of there Pickett - he's a Bowtruckle.”

Percival watched as Credence marvelled and cooed over the tiny plant-like creature that peeked out from behind Scamander’s collar, grinning from ear to ear. The happiest Percival had seen him.

He hated this.

He hated Scamander. He hated that a stranger had invaded their space. He hated that Credence was so open with this man he barely even knew.

He hated that he could tell, from Scamander’s wandering eyes, that the man was plotting something. He resented the way Scamander had the same marvelled, proud expression as Percival had while watching Credence, especially when the young man showed off his magic that Percival taught him. He hated that he could tell that Scamander was thinking of bringing his boy away,  _ snatching  _ his boy away from him -

Scamander’s teacup shattered suddenly, startling the nervous wizard who'd jumped up, Bowtruckle cradled protectively against him. His wand was drawn out and pointed to Percival in defense, looking quite ready to blast a hex at him. Credence stood before the wand, as if shielding Percival.

_ That _ knocked some sense to Percival, who hadn’t realized he was the cause of the broken cup and spilled tea. He finally noticed the familiar thrum of his magic in the room.

“Credence,” Scamander swallowed nervously. “Are you sure - Are you sure you are alright living here. With him. I can help you.”

“It’s not like that! Newt - Mister Graves, he’s just - not well,” Credence frantically tried. Percival could tell Credence was disturbed, frightened even. And that he was making excuses for him just sounded bad. He could smell ash in the air, a sign of the Obscurus’ presence. Percival stood up and backed away, staring at the two of them in the corner.

“I-I’m,” Percival found himself almost choking on his words as he stepped further back. The apology that he wanted to say to Credence remained stuck in his throat. “I’m just - I’ll leave you two to it.”

He turned and retreated to their bedroom and shut the door behind him. He took a breather, still feeling magic crackling in his fingertips. He hadn’t felt that sort of rage in a long time. This was clearly not normal.

Percival decided to go to sleep. He could hear the muffled conversation outside, but he didn’t bother to eavesdrop. He didn’t want to lose it again if he were to hear Scamander persuading Credence to go away with him, to leave Percival to be safe from him.

As if Credence needed protection. His boy was powerful, amazing and too good. Nobody knew him better than Percival did and that zookeeper thought he knew better? The rage burned hot in him at the ridiculousness of it. He was already anxious that his boy wasn’t in the same room with him, unable to feel the warmth of his skin and the soft curls of his hair. He needed to smell that familiar, comforting mix of soft spice and hint of embers.

The older wizard forced himself to bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, to stop thinking.

He was only given relief an hour later, when he finally heard the door open and the familiar smell of the Obscurus’ dark magic seeped into the air. He followed the pull of sleep willingly once he felt Credence pressed up against his back, his warm hands around Percival’s waist.

 

\--+--

 

Their days went by. Scamander was out of their hair as promised the morning after that night, and Percival was not sorry to see him go. He just watched from the doorway while Credence sent him off with the thunderbird Frank. The red-haired wizard didn’t look his way at all.

Credence did not speak about Percival’s actions that night. That seemed to be their thing, to ignore things that bothered them, hoping they would forget it and it would go away. Percival wasn’t one to bring such things up either. Even as the Director and the big name of the current Graves family, he was better with actions than words. Furthermore, their entire dynamic was a fragile, once-broken thing. He had become a coward, and didn’t dare to risk throwing it all away by making a mistake again.

They went about with their usual routine. Credence had clearly enjoyed Scamander’s unexpected visit, and was asking Percival about other creatures in the magical world. He’d mentioned Gnarlack, the goblin whose speakeasy was the meeting point for them and Grindelwald. It was Credence’s first time seeing something a creature like that, and he was also intrigued by the beasts that became the symbol of the Ilvermorny Houses.  

Percival liked that Credence had found something to focus his passion on, but was bothered that it was due to someone else. And Scamander must have left him some books on magical creatures because Percival didn’t remember having a copy of the book Credence had his nose buried in lately.

The rage from that night still burned in him. It was an irrational thing, something that possessed his mind and actions and Percival had feared that Grindelwald must have found them, and must have cast an Imperius curse on him from somewhere. But no matter what charm he did on himself to cleanse himself of that feeling that stuck to his chest, Percival couldn’t deny his thoughts and actions were his own.

He wanted to keep Credence for himself, keep the young man away from the world so only he would be able to view all of the boy and his powerful glory. He wanted to send a curse flying to anyone who dared look at his boy, dared to even approach him, dared to take his attention from him.

Percival held back the desire to snatch Scamander’s book away from Credence and have it burned.

His passion was frightening, even to himself.

What had he become? A crazed fiend, desperately clinging to a man half his age and coveting the power and kindness and goodness Credence had.

Wanting to escape the complexity of his thoughts and increasingly aggressive emotions, Percival took comfort in Credence instead.

In bed, Credence would take control, and Percival would give it all to him willingly. What Credence wanted, he offered, as if it would right all his wrongs. Credence seemed to enjoy it, and his boy was most beautiful when he has power in his veins, the Obscurus like a graceful veil over him.

Perhaps it was their magic and body compatible with each other, that made it so good. Percival wanted to consume and be consumed by it, by his boy with the pale skin and brandy coloured eyes and sinfully red lips. His scars were like decorative carvings, and Percival had noticed Credence had eyed his own scars with interest too. Sometimes, in their kisses, Percival could almost taste it, that darkness that enthralled and captured him.

Percival didn’t want to let go. And so he gave all he got, his knowledge, his guidance, his life - not realizing how much of a slave he’d become for this special young man. As long as that would mean it would give Credence reason not to leave him.

He didn’t want to imagine what he’d do if Credence did.

 

\--+--

 

Credence was often believed to be stupid and ignorant, knowing nothing else but the word of God and the plague of witches. It was all Mary Lou had taught him.

Graves was the one who made him feel special. He was not the first one; there were a few who were kind but their presence fleeting, but he had been the most consistent. At least for a while. He was also Credence’s teacher in magic, after they’d left the whole incident with Grindelwald behind.

Credence knew he wasn’t stupid at least, even if Mary Lou would beg to differ. He had a teacher, an acquaintance of Mary Lou, who told him how bright he was, before Mary Lou decided he didn’t deserve to gain more knowledge. Graves had praised his quick grasp of his magic, and Newt had been amazed and excited about Credence’s interest in his work and creatures. Credence had been told he was observant and sharp.

So it was clear to Credence that there was something wrong with Graves.

The man had been rather unsettled ever since Grindelwald, but after Newt had come along, Graves seemed even more off. Distant and more temperamental. Credence could feel the simmering anger from the static of magic in the air.

When he’d broken Newt’s teacup, Credence saw the look of surprise on his face. It had scared him, of course, since he almost thought the man was about to attack the kind red-haired wizard again.

But then there was the look of fear that flickered across the older man’s face left an ache in his chest, and Credence was sure they both could smell the ash. He had wondered if Newt sensed his Obscurus, but once Graves went into the bedroom, the man made no mention of it.

Newt Scamander had been kind, and he reminded Credence a lot of Miss Goldstein - Tina, as Newt had called her. He was considerate, and even though he had difficulty meeting Credence’s eyes (something which Credence could relate to), he was warm and friendly and had a lot to teach. He had offered Credence another chance, to bring him away from Graves and get him a proper teacher. He was interested in Credence and his Obscurus too, admitting that he was both concerned and intrigued and would like to study more of it. Even with his admission, Credence felt that Newt was a compassionate man, in the way he offered things. The wizard offered his contacts in Europe, where they would be more understanding about Credence’s situation.

A part of Credence was still yearning. Newt and Miss Tina felt like they could be family - a real one, like those he’d seen and envied as a child. He wanted to take the help that was offered so graciously to him. But Credence knew he didn’t deserve them. He had Graves already, and the man had… done a lot by him.

Credence could not think of a life without Graves, and he could not imagine how the man himself would fare without him. He had noticed how attached they were with each other. All the times they’d spent together alone, depending on no one else.

Credence was a little sad when the strange wizard left with Credence’s hastily written letter for Miss Tina, but at the same time relieved to get his space back with Graves. The older wizard looked awfully pleased, though Credence was sure he didn’t mean to make it so obvious.

They stayed in the desert for the moment. Graves seemed alright with Credence’s suggestion to stay there, but it was likely they might move again, especially since Newt had warned them about a dangerous creature in the area.

So far they had not encountered anything strange. Nights were a welcome relief from the heat in the daytime. Graves, at least, appreciated the chilly desert winds and had a mellowed mood during then. Which also meant the older wizard would bring Credence to bed for a much more intimate night, much to Credence’s pleasure.

That night, however, Credence was awoken by how cold it was. Their house had been charmed to keep warm, so the temperature was bizarre. Graves was blissfully asleep beside him, unbothered by the chill, so Credence slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could to grab a glass of water. He did not think much of it, thinking that it was just the weather acting up.

Credence pulled on a robe as he walked to the kitchen. Their bunker had expanded to a full blown house, just a little smaller than the church Credence lived in, with a spare room as an office and guest bedroom that was given to Newt when he was there, and the kitchen had grown twice as big as it was before.

Credence looked out the window as he drank from his glass, surveying the sky. He sort of missed Newt and the majestic beast they called a thunderbird. He had been amused by its name, Frank. The avian beast looked much more regal than its name and he wondered if it was just in Newt’s personality. Credence had quite envied the man’s freedom and compassion, especially towards his creatures.

Credence did know that Graves clearly did not like the man, however. It was probably the best that Newt didn’t linger any longer than needed.

Credence hadn’t seen any trace of rain clouds in the sky though, which was probably a good thing. He wondered if the magizoologist was well, and if he was still in Arizona. He hoped his letter would reach Miss Tina.

He sighed, thinking of what wonders that lay before him. Credence had yet to see all of the magical world. They had to remain hidden, because they were wanted, and he thought of how much longer they would have to hide. Graves might know, but he didn’t seem keen to return to a so-called ‘normal’ life.

And then Credence realized, as he stared at the window glass, that his breath was coming out as mists. It wouldn’t have been bizarre, if it suddenly hadn’t become so freezing cold Credence could see the glass of the window and the glass in his hand physically getting covered in frost.

An extreme sense of dread suddenly grasped Credence’s entire body, leaving the young man shuddering violently. He never felt like this before - the dread and sorrow, yes - but not in such intense, crippling bursts.  _ What kind of magic is this? _

Credence’s mind immediately went to Graves, who was still asleep. He immediately ran back to their room, only to find a large, cloak-like creature of pure black hovering over the sleeping wizard.

Was this the Lethifold, the creature Newt had warned them about?

Panicked, Credence shot a hex at the beast, but it showed no effect on it. He shot more curses and hexes, but to no avail, only destroying the room they were in. The shroud began to envelop Graves, who was blinking awake from the noise. The man immediately struggled, trying to get away.

“Perce!” Credence cried, frantic as panic took over, all others spells thrown out of his mind as he tried to physically grab the creature off the man. The creature was almost delicate and diaphanous like silk, but it had will of its own, and it was far larger and spreader throughout their room like a black flood. Credence couldn’t even budge or grab a proper hold of it as it remained stuck on Graves’ thrashing body.

“Shit! My wand!” Graves yelled as the creature’s form attempted to swallow him whole, trying to cover the wizard’s face to smother him. The wand flew to Graves’ remaining free hand and the wizard pointed to the Lethifold. “ _ Expecto Patronum _ !”

A light burst of silver shot from the wand - a weak Patronus, but it was enough to knock the creature back just a little. Credence took that chance to pull Graves away from its seeming mouth. The Lethifold was gigantic, far too large to be anything natural. They were still surrounded by the black shape. It had probably cloaked the entire house.

The cold air from the Lethifold was overwhelming and freezing, and the mental debilitating effect that came with it made the dark creature inside Credence scream. The Obscurus wanted to be let out, to take over since its host was weakening. Graves sensed the panic, and despite looking drained from the attack, he Disapparated them out of the residence.

They Apparated not far from the house, a few hundred meters away perhaps, but it was clear why they hadn’t gone further. Graves collapsed to the dirt with an agonized groan, a chunk of his arm and leg missing from splinching.

“Oh God,” Credence whimpered as he saw the damage. So much blood.

The air was still freezing, both from the night and from the chilling effects from the creature. Credence saw the Lethifold in clear view finally: A beast that came in the simple shape of a black shroud with little to no features. Thick and dark and massive, big enough to blanket their entire house, yet somehow looking so ephemeral with the cold mists of dread it emitted. Frost followed its trail, siphoning even more life out of the dead and barren desert.

It shook Credence to the core because of how similar it looked to his Obscurus. It was as if God decided to show him his nightmare.

The Lethifold that had crept away from the building was slowly moving towards their direction. Thankfully, it was languid, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Credence’s breaths came in fast and heavy, unable to focus on a single thought: He had to get them away, he had to heal Graves, he had to stop the Lethifold. He hadn’t been properly trained in combat or emergencies. The last time he did, he broke apart and succumbed to his Obscurus. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Credence was panicking to the point that he didn’t even think to Apparate or physically carry the man away.

“Credence,” Graves groaned, gripping Credence’s shaking hands. Blood smeared on deathly pale skin. Credence whimpered and sobbed, but Graves held him firmly. “My boy, listen to me. A Patronus. Only the Patronus works on the Lethifold.”

“I still can’t conjure one!” Credence replied in tears. He’d been practicing by himself, but he had yet to gain any results. He saw Graves’ attempt hadn’t been that effective, so that meant that they needed a full-fledged, corporeal Patronus. Something that Credence didn’t think he had it in him to be able to conjure. He wasn’t worthy. He wasn’t pure of heart. “My- my Obscurus can-”

“Credence, my boy, breathe for me,” Graves reached up to hold Credence’s neck, pulling him down for their foreheads to touch. It always worked. Credence inhaled and exhaled, slowly and shakily, but it worked. Credence could sense the giant Lethifold approaching. Its simple shape of black cloth belied its frightening presence, the way it moved like a viscous liquid-cloth of death. He could feel ice frosting the ground under them. “That’s it, good boy, breathe. You can do this.”

“But my Obscurus can do it. It’s strong…”

“ _ You’re _ strong, you can do it. And we don’t know if the Obscurus’ dark magic will work on a dark beast like that. You can summon a full Patronus, Credence,” Graves drilled that into him firmly, squeezing his hand and the back of his neck. Graves began to sound weak from his blood-loss. “Please, Credence.”

Credence nodded helplessly as he closed his eyes and grasped Graves’ hands to his lips. He tasted iron on them.

The Lethifold was already hovering above them, slowly creeping in. Credence could feel his body turn to ice. His lungs strained for air and he could hear Graves’ wheezing breaths. The black shroud enveloped them both like a heavy film, squeezing and smothering and suffocating. They were going to be consumed.

The stench of blood and ash intensified. Credence thought of Newt, Miss Tina, their kindness, and Graves in his arms -

Credence felt his Obscurus burst out of his body -

And yet he was still whole. The cloak-like form of the Lethifold was not only swept away, but Credence had heard its agonized shriek. The creature was not dead but heavily injured, but it had immediately slunk away.

Credence and Graves, however, were stunned by something else.

Replacing the black cloak of the Lethifold was the Obscurus cloud. But instead of it being black, red and smoky, it was a bright, nearly blinding, silver. Graves stared at it, gaping in awe. “That’s…”

Credence was just as stunned. The condensed, silver cloud began to reform into a vague shape. It was not solid, but the shape was something Credence wasn’t sure to believe. It looked like a mix of a humanoid shape and a flurry of large wings.

Not a moment after, the silver cloud dissipated into nothing. Their surroundings had gone back to normal; all trace of ice and chill and dread gone along with the Lethifold.

“That’s what I saw back then,” Graves murmured.

Credence stared blankly at the man, before he realized what he meant by ‘then’, “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see I took some liberties with the Lethifold. I don't think we've gotten an official look at it other than the Fantastic Beasts companion book, right? So for plot convenience I changed it up lol. 
> 
> And well, this story is nearing its end... It's been a ride! I really cannot stress how much I appreciate the kudos and comments. I look forward to reading your thoughts. Thank you so so much! See you in the next update! ; w ;
> 
> Visit me on tumblr? I'm over at [thedestroyeroflife](http://thedestroyeroflife.tumblr.com) and I draw stuff too at [organicfleshink](http://organicfleshink.tumblr.com)!


	8. Tamat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Tina hope they get to hear from the two again, or at least from Credence, but as much as it pains them and heighten their concerns about the young Obscurial, perhaps it was for the best that they remain hidden.

Newt Scamander graced their front door with his presence again, much to Percival’s displeasure.

“Oh,” Scamander said as he spotted the no-maj bandages on Percival. Both he and Credence were still lacking in Healing magic. Percival was a terrible teacher in that branch. “Did something happen?”

“Splinching,” the older wizard bit out and moved away.

Scamander entered the house without any further questions, and was greeted by Credence.

“So, I saw a glimpse of the Lethifold, and - it was indescribable! It was the biggest I’ve seen and I don’t think there were any reported to be that large! There were traces of it been in a fight, and it looked weakened. It might be more aggressive,” Scamander informed Credence, who passed the man a cup of tea. “Thank you. So, I ah, thought you two should move from here since it’s in the vicinity.”

“It’s fine, Mister Newt,” Credence smiled at him.

“It’s fine?” the wizard parroted, blinking questioningly at Credence. It took a moment before it sank in. “Ah, so you… “

Credence nodded slowly. “...Oh, that’s good. I was worried.”

“We’re fine. Thank you, for your warning. It helped,” Credence replied, giving a small smile. Percival contributed nothing.

Scamander cleared his throat and seemed like he had more to say. He hesitated before he asked, carefully this time, “Did you use your Obscurus?”

“No,” the younger man said, confidently. “I did it on my own.”

“Your own magic against the Lethifold? That is to say, with a Patronus? You conjured one?” Scamander asked, his eyes lit up with interest, beaming proudly as he clapped the young man’s shoulders, retracting them after a moment awkwardly. “That’s - That  is amazing, Credence! That is… I am so proud of you. I don’t know what to say. May I ask... was it a full-fledged Patronus?”

“Thank you,” Credence replied, all smiles. "It's... I think it was. But it was a weird shape. It wasn't really an animal, I think, but it had wings."

"Wings? Well, that quite suits you, actually," Scamander assured, seemingly taking a mental note. Percival didn’t miss the look Scamander shot him though, before the wizard leaned in a little close, speaking softer. But Percival could still catch it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me, Credence? You can learn so much more. You are much more talented than you think. I can have you meet one of my teachers from Hogwarts - best wizarding school in the world!”

It took all Percival had not to break something, with magic or none. He took a deep inhale and waited for Credence’s answer.

“Thank you, Mister Newt,” Credence said again. He sounded a little forlorn, and that made Percival’s heart clench. “I’m fine. I am… happy here,” Credence continued. Percival acted like he wasn’t listening, but what he heard had - _moved_ him. He didn’t dare to turn to look at what expression Credence’s face wore. It could be a lie. But his pure boy never could do such a thing, could he?.

Scamander seemed stunned, as if not expecting such a response. It actually took him a while to reply, though unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Right. Then I am glad for you Credence,” Scamander said with a sigh. His expression softened into acceptance and another of his understanding, kind smiles. “I am leaving for New York then. I will be passing Tina your letter. Do take care of yourself, Credence. If you need me for anything, just send me an owl. ”

Credence nodded, but Percival made no effort to join the conversation. He had no more ties to New York. Not even Tina, or Seraphina, if she was still alive. Especially not Grindelwald. But if Credence were to choose to go back to meet Tina and Newt, perhaps eventually, he’d have to deal with it.

Credence and Scamander had their goodbyes. Percival hoped not to see the wizard ever again.

When Scamander was finally gone along with Frank the thunderbird, Percival beckoned Credence to him. The young man went to him without question, just a curious look. He took one of Credence’s hands and pulled him to his lap, staring up at his boy for a long moment, then moved to embrace him tightly.

He did not say a word, but Credence seemed to understand, not surprised at all. His hands settled around the back of Percival’s head, cradling it carefully, his own face tucked by Percival’s head.

It felt warm. Safe. Complete.

 _No one will take him from me_ , Percival thought to himself. The older man waited a beat, before he dared to speak, “You cannot leave me.”

Credence did not reply to him immediately. His grip on the younger man tightened without him realizing. But there was no rejection, not even a reaction or the expected scent of burning ash. Percival became afraid at the lack of it.

“I won’t leave you, Mister Graves,” Credence finally said, gently. His hands slid down the back of his neck, petting, soothing, like what Percival usually did to Credence. Those words left Percival sighing as relief and benediction washed over him, and he nuzzled into the younger man’s shoulder. Scent of spice and something floral from their soap. Clean and pure.

Percival pictured the figure of light - Credence’s Patronus in his mind. He’d seen it when they first laid intimately together. It had been the Obscurus, at first. He could tell from the burning stench and the heavy weight of magic taking his breath. Then it materialized into something else - it looked like what the Patronus they saw when Credence fought back against the Lethifold.

 _It was an angel_ , Percival thought. _No mistaking it._

Truly a saviour, a miracle. _His_ angel. The thought made Percival smile.

The black Obscurial shroud that haloed the Patronus’ crown, however, had given it the semblance of an angel of death.

Percival didn’t think that was such a bad thing either.

 

\---+---

 

When Frank had sensed danger back then, Newt was grateful the thunderbird took the initiative to deliver him to a shelter. Newt couldn’t recognize the threat, only that he thought of the Dementors with their chill and dread. Frank had flown them far enough from whatever harmful creature was out there, but Newt couldn’t possibly rest out in the desert chill. So when the thunderbird spotted the house in the middle of the desert, Newt had trusted Frank’s instincts, and expected the residents of the strange house  would be non-hostile at best.

He didn’t expect to be greeted with a wand in his face by the former MACUSA Director of Magical Security.

And he _definitely_ didn’t expect to see a young man who looked so much like the Obscurial named Credence Barebone.

Newt had seen that bit of Obscurial matter escape into the hole in the ceiling, but he didn’t exactly think much of it then. He had felt hope, that the boy he’d tried to save somehow managed to escape with part of himself, and get to live free. It was unlikely, but it had been a dark cloud over both him and Tina, who was remorseful over her failure to protect the young man.

This Credence, however, was nearly the opposite of the shivering, tearful young man he’d first met in the subway tunnel. Physically, the (former?) Obscurial looked healthier, less pale with rosier cheeks,  his bowl cut grown out to something more palatable even with its long wavy strands, his posture was no longer hunched and most importantly, had a bright smile that lit up his otherwise gloomy features.

If Newt didn’t know any better, he would have thought the young man before him as someone else.

Percival Graves, however, did not seem to share Credence’s sentiments on accepting Newt as a guest. While he acted nonchalant and let the two of them converse, Newt couldn’t help but worry. The man had taken his creatures away, especially the Obscurus he’d contained, and even wanted to use it. He’d sentenced him and Tina to death easily, no questions asked. Obviously, he’d be concerned about Credence.

Initially his mind went to assumptions; had the former Grindelwald follower brainwashed the young man to his side? Was he blackmailing him? Newt fidgeted nervously throughout, but Credence showed no signs of unhappiness. He looked content, even, and well kept, many times better than the small, malnourished young man he was many months ago.

Newt was pleased and excited, his interest and curiosity piqued when the young man showed his magic. Credence was a natural, and powerful, obviously. Wandless and silent magic seemed like second nature to him, and Newt had observed that there were little to no signs of the Obscurus. It was a marvellous mystery, that came in the shape of an unfortunate young man. Newt could tell that the boy had matured mentally too, and he was clever and skilled.

Newt almost wished he could bring the boy back and expose him to all the knowledge he and his colleagues could offer. He was sure Albus Dumbledore, his former teacher, would have a lot to say and observe about Credence.

Graves, however, was extremely protective of the boy, which came across as more of possessive. Newt could see it in the way Graves looked at Credence, the way they were constantly touching, and not forgetting the glares and the thin smiles that were just as unnerving. When he’d broke Newt’s teacup, Newt was already too jittery and apprehensive and had immediately drawn out his wand, ready to protect himself and his creatures. He was ready to protect Credence, too.

But said young man _shielded_ Graves. Newt was both unsure and confused. But Credence had nearly pleaded, made excuses for the older wizard’s uncontrolled magic. To Newt, it just screamed _wrong_ , and Newt would have thought the boy had entered another cycle of an abusive environment. He had considered whisking the young man away against his will, just in case.

Newt had caught the smell of ash and ozone, which made him stop from doing anything rash. It was the scent of two distinctly separate magic, but yet, they seemed so closely entwined together. It had left the redhead staring hard at the two of them, his mind running and working it out.

And bugger, this was more complicated than he thought. It was even more obvious when Graves left the room and Credence looked so restless and stressed that the man was not in his presence. It reminded him a little bit of Pickett who clung to him, not wanting to let go.

Credence had rejected Newt’s offer then too, and well, it couldn’t be helped. Newt had seen no other signs of distress, so he had to quietly accept it, even if their whole thing rubbed him the wrong way. Newt wasn’t great with people, and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy forcing someone to do something they didn’t want to do. He’d just have to keep tabs on Credence somehow, if possible.

Newt left them as he promised, and then when he’d spotted the rare and unique Lethifold he’d told the two about, he just had to check up on Credence again. Something that large and dangerous with only one known weakness? Would be good to check up on the boy. The Patronus charm was advanced magic, and he didn’t know if Credence knew to protect himself. He considered depending on the former Auror but...

When Newt visited them again, he was stunned to learn that Credence was able to produce a Patronus, and somehow Graves had gotten injured in their confrontation with the Lethifold. Newt did not know what exactly happened, but both were mellowed and seemed more in tune with each other.

And that was when Newt realized that perhaps both of them needed to stay together. They were so close, almost to a point of dependency. All those touches, those looks, their body language. It was no wonder they were just… weird. Newt decided not to comment on it. He could never understand humans as well as he understood his creatures. Humans were complex, complicated beings, and he trusted Credence to know what he wants. He was no child, after all.

While Credence had changed, Newt had noticed the same for Graves, albeit harder to spot. The man had deferred to Credence; the former Magical Security Director listened to the young man, was almost gentle in his constant contact with the young man, but also protective in that fierce, savage manner. The sharp, aggressive look under those heavy set brows had softened to something else too, but only towards Credence.

Newt, after having noticed all this, felt out of place within the company of the two of them, even more so than he already usually is with people. He wondered how he should break the news to Tina about these two.

He had expected Credence’s second rejection to his offer, but it was still something quite regrettable. So Newt left Credence (and Graves) with a farewell and promises of delivered letters and sending owls. He felt that they might not meet again; it was by chance that they did, and such luck didn’t occur often.

Newt would have to look out for news about Obscurials in America, just in case.

 

\--+--

 

Many months later, Newt hears about the sightings of immense black fogs and the strange presence of a man with silver over his temples. They were spotted all over America, and while he’d heard from Tina that MACUSA are still chasing them - Seraphina sends out the occasional Tracker and gets Communications to inform other branches of the danger - but she assures that they are nowhere close. She herself had done her own tracking out of concern for Credence, and rightful anger towards her former mentor, but had little luck herself.

The two of them have disappeared amidst the reports of sightings and strange rumours of a man with a ghost. They build up and convolute the whole story with the traitorous Director and Obscurial. As more time goes by, Newt is sure that less people will know who or what they are, much less identify their location.

Newt continues to receive letters from Credence, however. The young man sounds content and pleased in his writing, and he talks the things he’d learned. Occasionally, Newt will send him books and other pointers too, and he could imagine Graves’ sneer.

But when Newt sends news of Grindelwald’s escape from prison, the letters slow, and Newt understands their predicament. He feels a little guilty, causing them to go into hiding again with the news, but it is not his place to keep such information. He would rather Credence stay away from the clutches of a madman who’d use it to terrorize and subjugate the no-maj. And while he still doesn’t fully trust Percival Graves, he is disinclined to admit that what he saw between the two can be used to protect Credence.

Eventually, the letters stop coming altogether. The owls Newt sends out return his letters and packages.

Another year later, and nobody knows their whereabouts, or even their status. Most believe they died, somewhere, or found by Grindelwald and his followers and promptly killed. Newt thinks that’s hogwash, but it is better to remain silent.

When Newt visits Tina again, neither she nor MACUSA have any inkling either. They are too busy still trying to cover up their failure in holding down the dark wizard. The escape had left the Congress in shambles, still scrambling and rebuilding, trying to regain the trust of their people. A new Director of Magical Security has been appointed, and the President shows less of herself but maintains a strong grip of her people. Newt doesn’t offer any opinion about it, but he knows it would take a long time for things like this to heal.

Grindelwald remains a threat, but he seems to have moved his operations back to Europe.

Tina, however, still worries and writes to Credence. Sometimes she seems to be successful, but more often than not, she gets notices that the owl that’s been sent is lost and the delivery failed. She is glad that she at least managed to get that Howler to Graves before they went into full hiding. She works harder to better the world and try to help as many possible victims of injustice she comes across.

Newt, meanwhile, continues his studies of his creatures and beasts for his book, but keeps a lookout on anything about Obscurials. He’d failed two now, and he’s taken it as his duty not to make the same mistake the third time. All his letters and exchanges with Credence has been filed away for reference, and also as fond memories.

Newt and Tina hope they get to hear from the two again, or at least from Credence, but as much as it pains them and heighten their concerns about the young Obscurial, perhaps it was for the best that they remain hidden.

\----

\--+ **EPILOGUE** +--

\----

Credence and Graves remain in Arizona for a while, but Credence know it won’t be long before they would start moving again. Graves hates the heat, and Credence is starting to get restless. He hadn’t realized how much he prefers to keep moving.

Somehow, it still feels like they are being chased.

After the Lethifold, Credence feels more grounded and in tune with his magic. Casting that strange Patronus must have done something, as he hears  less of the Obscurus’ whispers and more of his own voice, his magic and his strength. The darkness is still there, just less distinct. Credence isn’t sure if it is a fortunate thing.

Graves, at least, seems to like the change.

The man had become more open with his affections. Even as they are on the move, sometimes taking the no-maj trains from one place to another, or just walking along roads in some town, the man doesn’t refrain from physical contact.

He always has a hand on Credence: on his back, over his shoulder, cupping his neck, and sometimes, when the man is particularly bold, he’d steal a kiss even in public view. It embarrasses Credence, but at the same time, he’s never felt this wanted, and not feel ashamed of himself.

And eventually Credence reciprocates.

Credence can’t believe that Graves had allowed him take him for his first time. When he’d pushed his arousal into the older man’s body, it had felt so good, Credence almost sobbed from the pleasure. Graves was patient in guiding but when he got really aroused, he was demanding and quite insatiable. Credence had passed out after two intense rounds.

It doesn’t take long before Credence invites the man to have his turn. He had wanted Graves in him, feel the man inside him and revel in the moment when they would become one. Credence has acknowledged his desire for him, had begun to fully trust him again, and he hopes it won’t be another mistake.

As the man penetrates him, all Credence can think about and feel is a sense of fulfillment. Their fingers interlaced and he can feel Graves’ nose against his nape, inhaling and breathing heavily. His voice whispers filthy desires in his ear, but it only makes Credence keen and tremble. Each thrust shakes his core, and he can feel his cock throb as pleasure shoots through him repeatedly. Credence had almost wept, unable to believe that he is in this position, content and satisfied and having someone who wants him, in some way or another.

Even while experiencing it, it still feels like a dream.

Throughout his travels, Credence maintains his contact with Newt. The wiry red-headed wizard is generous enough to share stories of his adventures, his experiences with all the creatures he’d encountered. Keeping contact with Newt and Miss Tina has helped in getting information about their pursuers, who, according to the Auror, no longer have the urgent orders to find them. They have other things to worry about, apparently, and Credence thinks it is just fine.

Credence notices Miss Tina never mentions anything about Graves in their letters; either Newt did not tell her about their being together, or Miss Tina has chosen to ignore her former mentor altogether.

There was that red envelope addressed to Graves however… And he thought he’d heard a lot of yelling when the man brought it to one of their rooms privately, but after that, Graves never mentioned Miss Tina either. And he’s made it clear that he never really liked Newt, but he’d let Credence continue sending out owls.

Only once, did the man act out of misplaced jealousy and rage, that he burned some of the books Newt had sent him, and it was almost the straw that broke the camel’s back.

They had separated for a few days, slept in different rooms, or if particularly bad, in a different building altogether. The separation only itched at Credence’s skin, and he felt the physical void without the man around him. Credence was never great with confrontations, and he never really had the chance to be angry, always the one to be blamed instead. It was a strange feeling. All he wanted to do was apologize, feeling the need to have the man back in his vicinity again. His anger simmered, and so did his Obscurus.

But Credence hadn’t needed to use his Obscurus or even his magic, as angry as he was.

In fact, it was Graves who came back apologizing, looking stricken and desperate. Credence had little reason to turn him away. Instead, he felt a little good, that the man came to ask for forgiveness instead. Not that Credence wouldn’t give him. Even if he didn’t, he can forget. They need each other anyway. Both of them know that, because they can’t bring themselves to trust anyone else.

It had taken them a long time to get to their current point.

Has it been a year? Or almost two? Or even three?

It no longer matters.

It had felt so long, and yet so short, and Credence knows there is a lot for him to learn and experience. He is still afraid of the future, but Graves is with him, and the man has been adamant in sticking to his side.

Credence knows they are bound together.

The man he calls Mister Graves will never leave him. Even until now, Credence doesn’t know it the man does it out of duty, obligation, or desire for his power. Graves, or Perce, as he sometimes calls him, doesn’t ask for anything else, other than to stay by him. Credence’s anxiety and insecurities will forever remain in his head, just as the Obscurus will continue to reside inside him. They tell him that he is unworthy, that the man is still lying.

Credence knows it is still a possibility. But he also knows the man recognizes his power. The man has made his mistake before. He shouldn’t be stupid enough to make the same one again.

He sighs at the kisses rained upon him, followed by the scratch of stubble on his pale skin. Large hands caress over the faded scars on his arms and is later kissed by the same lips. Graves’ gestures are light and fleeting and worshipping. The man does whatever he says now, especially in bed. Out of it, the man advises and guides Credence into certain choices. But he will still relent to Credence’s insistence; Graves has become so delectably weak for him.

Credence moans and begs Graves for more. The words and tone doesn’t matter. It is that he asks and he is immediately given, that shows who is the one in control. Graves is hungry and wanting. He murmurs feverishly, “Yes, good boy. My sweet, precious boy.”

And Credence replies him with praises, sweet talk that leaves the older man gasping as he digs his fingers in Credence’s thighs and fucks deeper into him. The carnal pleasure fills him and satisfies the voracious void in his chest. He clings to Graves and moans his name, repeating it like he would with a prayer. His grip is strong and possessive. He nearly claws at the older man’s back and wants to leave scars.

“I am yours, sweet boy. I am yours for you to take.”

“Mine,” Credence whispers, almost in awe. His heart is filled with something, but he doesn’t know what to name it as. The look on Graves’ face mirrors his emotion, and Credence wonders if the man has an answer for him, but he doesn’t ask.

“Yours.”

Credence relishes the power given to him. He enjoys the thought that the man has become needy for him, can’t get away from him long enough. He’s seen him frantic, desperate, anxious, if Credence were to ever leave his sight. In a dark place inside of him, it amuses him how far a man who was so strong and confident fall to feet.

But Credence can say the same for himself. The man is a fixture in his life, and he can’t look at anyone else who doesn’t have the same handsome face, assured confidence and aggressive swagger that first pulled his attention. Graves is his, the only proper thing he owns now. Tina and Newt can’t replace his vilified form of adoration with their innocent, pure and familial concern.

Credence has decided to punish himself to what Graves has offered him. Credence is a terrible person who has a Devil in him, and such sinners are only allowed warped infatuations that are possibly lies.

The lies are sweet enough to sate him. He can only pray it lasts a little longer every day.

When they are done and lay on their backs to catch their breaths, the familiar scents of ash and ozone mix. Fire, and lightning, known to bring destruction and also a symbol of might. It suits them perfectly, and Credence smiles at the thought.

Maybe one day, Credence and his Obscurus might end up eating up all Graves had to offer. Maybe someday, Credence will burn him from the inside out. But the man before him has offered his life and magic to him, and Credence can’t refuse. Lightning can burn just as hot, and it is the risk of pain and surprise that entices Credence.

He leans in to press his lips over Graves’ and nuzzles into him. The man hums and runs his fingers through his long grown hair.

“Never leave me,” he murmurs quietly. Distantly, Credence means it as a warning. Graves answers him, ever the faithful dog he’d become.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my little fanfic to the end! I hope you have enjoyed it and I appreciate all your kudos and comments! You have no idea how happy they make me :) Hopefully I will write and share more stories with you all and spread more Gradence love.
> 
> Do visit me on my art blog! I've been drawing a lot of Credence lately: [organicfleshink](http://organicfleshink.tumblr.com)


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